


Detroit: Become Human Fics/Drabbles

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 41,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16208450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21
Summary: Title says it all! :)





	1. When Colors Fade | Connor RK800

Get in. Neutralize target. Get out.

 

You were tasked with a job and were prepared to complete it. You had to remind yourself that you’d be alright and that this wouldn’t take longer than need be. Besides, it wasn’t like you’d have any trouble; you were highly trained in several types of martial arts and also a professional gymnast. Marksmanship wasn’t entirely your thing, so oftentimes you used your hands—those were your weapons. You’ve strangled the life out of someone, stabbed, punched, there was an endless amount of things you’ve done with your hands. And no matter how much you scrubbed and  _scrubbed_ , human blood would forever be stained on your youthful skin.

 

Killing androids wasn’t in your portfolio—wasn’t what you’d been paid to do, but when you were given no other choice, you did what you had to do. There could be no afflictions, no witnesses. 

 

 

You lowered yourself down from the wooden post that connected across one area of the living room to the other. Once your were close to the floor, you dropped and sighed in relief when your black combat boots made no audible sounds.

 

With your eyes still trained on your surroundings, you bent down and let your fingers brush over the hilt of your dagger that was lodged safely in your boot. You unsheathed it with slow and silent dynamism, eyes darting from one side of the building to the other.

 

It was a monstrous, complex and incredibly wealthy workplace with two island sofas perfectly aligned in the living room. You stood in the middle of them. A sixty inch flat screen television hung on the adjacent side of the smooth wooden wall, and a massive chandelier hung precariously above you in the center of the room. The entire vicinity was consumed by darkness save for the little light that emitted from a door twenty feet away from you. And this was just the sixtieth floor; this entire building had more above you—about ten more floors.

 

After memorizing the full layout from the blueprints, you noted that the light was coming from the main office room. You narrowed your eyes and brought your arm up to check the time. You had approximately ten minutes to execute the target and get out without being noticed by his security cameras or his seven foot tall body guards. You were pretty certain the entirety of the place was rigged with dozens of security precautions, such as highly trained body guards that could snap your neck in the blink of an eye.

 

Ivan Potlovski was a wealthy man.  A terrible, wealthy man who knew no bounds and gave zero fucks about anyone who crossed his path. Now, the only thing you knew he truly took pride it was his work; selling Red Ice to anyone and everyone. He was a convincing seller and an even more convincing murderer.

 

Of course he killed people—why else were you sent to kill him?

 

Twirling the blade in your hand, you began to walk silently across the floor. You were careful not to make any noises as you did so, and since you were certain that your target was in the room you neared, you knew you had to be extra quiet.

 

There would be no gun this time, only a dagger and your bare hands.

 

Holding up the dagger, you wrapped your free hand around the door knob and slowly turned until you could shove it open. Quickly, you stepped inside and shut the door behind you, eyes trained on the desk in the middle of the room.

 

“Well, well, well,” the man behind the desk tutted, spinning his chair around to lock eyes with you. His thick Russian accent echoed clearly in your ears, and you tilted your head, eying him quietly. “They send the infamous [Y/N] [Y/L/N] to take me down? I should feel special.”

 

You tilted your head, the black mouth scarf stretching with your movements. The dagger in your hand stilled with you, your eyes dark and intense, staring right through him. Still, you said nothing.

 

Get in.  _Neutralize_ _target_. Get out.

 

His eyes followed down to the dagger in your hand and you noticed the slight twitch in his face muscles. Huffing out a laugh, he laid his forearm on top of his desk, and your eyes were focus on his every move.

 

You caught as his other arm began to slowly fall down to his lap, and you took a menacing step closer, and your hand clenched around the hilt of the dagger. “Move again and my dagger goes in your eye,” your voice was sinister and daring, although it lacked the proper amount of mischief one often would have when taunting someone.

 

His arm halted, eyes still trained on you. A snarl was curling on the edges of his lips which meant you had provoked him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see behind the false threat.

 

“You think your empty threats scare me?” He backfired, voice low and dangerously confident.

 

You made no move in response, merely standing your ground and counting the minutes down to seconds. Time. You were going to run out of time before the alarm sounded if you didn’t take care of him now.

 

“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Ivan.” You took a turtle-sized step forward and gripped the dagger in your fingerless-gloved hand, head leaning up straight. “I’m on a tight schedule.”

 

He scoffed, eying you once more with that sickening bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes. No words slipped past his mouth, he only sat stiffly in his ominous and looming red chair. If you looked hard enough you’d be able to point out that he was most likely thinking over his failed plan and coming up with a new one.

 

But not you. No. Your plan was going along finely.  

 

“There’s no other way for me to do this,” you offered, voice gruff and muffled from the cloth covering your nose and mouth. “You know there’s no other way.”

 

He seemed to think your words over, and before you could even blink, his arm had reached under his desk where his pistol had been strapped to.

 

It all happened too fast.

 

He pulled the trigger, and you dropped onto all fours then rolled over until your back was pushed up against the smooth exterior of his rectangular shaped desk. You groaned and clutched onto the your weapon as he fired once more, the bullets flying over your head and landing in the door to his office.

 

Confusion seeped into your veins. Was he that much of a terrible aim, or had he been doing this on purpose? To alert the guards?

 

Turning over, you laid your back flat onto the floor and shoved your feet against the desk with a loud grunt, sending it hurling into Ivan’s gut. He groaned, and you heard a thud—it had to be his gun. Quickly, you jumped back up and without thinking, you hurled your dagger. You watched with precision as it sailed through the air then promptly punctured the left side of Ivan’s chest.

 

He fell to his knees, face pallid and ashen as he realized that he had lost.

 

You breathed out harshly, fighting the urge to put your hands on your knees in exhaustion. Anxiety filled you as you looked down at the watch on your wrist; you had less than three minutes to leave this maze of a house. You walked over to him, and wrapped your hand around the butt of the dagger, pulling it out fast before he had the chance to fully topple over and land face first on the ground.

 

“I told you not to make this hard, Ivan.” You sighed and backpedaled, irritated that it took you that long to do a simple task. You’ve had more difficult jobs than this and it took you less time than you had spent on this one.

 

Just as you turned around and wrapped your hand over the knob, the security alarm blared. You jumped then after realizing that your time was out, you cursed and flung the door open. Milliseconds later your front came in contact with something hard and firm and all at the same time reality came into focus. It was overwhelming; all of the bright colors, the liveliness of them all—and the brown eyes of the person you had just collided with. The obnoxious noise from the alarm had began to slowly fade out and everything heightened.

 

It all became clear in that moment.

 

Your breath hitched, and your eyes widened as you stared back at those beautiful,  _beautiful_  chocolate eyes. “ _Oh_.”

 

It was then you noticed the warmth that was pressed into your sides. You looked down; awe consuming you whole when you saw that his hands were almost greedily sunken into the silky fabric of your shirt.

 

You looked back up, his expression finally mirroring your own. Slowly the corners of his lips tilted upwards, “It’s—It’s  _you_.” But confusion followed suit, sweeping across his features before you could even bat an eyelash. “You—what—“

 

The sound of a bullet being fired caught your attention, and before he could get out another word, you acted on instinct and rammed the both of you onto the floor. And then everything clouded your senses; your eardrums felt like they’d been damaged from how long the alarm rang out, your heart felt heavy because— _no_ —you weren’t supposed to meet him here. He wasn’t supposed to be  _here_.

 

You landed on your side as the bullets screeched through the air, your head had slammed hard on the floor. A groan slipped past your lips, and black dots danced around your vision. Suddenly arms were wrapped under your armpits and pulling you back; there was the warmth again, and you felt yourself fighting back mentally but it was no use. It consumed you whole.

 

After a second of being dragged across the floor, you felt your back come into contact with a hard surface. Hands cupped your cheeks, and in your peripherals you noticed a flashing red light. It was faint because of how blurry your vision had gotten but it was there and it was glowing, flashing in a spiral of some sort.

 

Looking back up at him, you felt your brows furrow as you tried to make out what he was saying to you, but the pounding in your head and the sharp whine of the bullets that continued to ring out made it difficult to.

 

His lips were moving frantically, the pads of his thumbs swiping at your cheeks. In the midst of the chaos, you failed to remember when your mouth scarf had slipped down, so now your face was bared and out in the open for him to see.

 

“… need to… you out… here.”  His words were fading in and out, you found it hard to concentrate.

 

You shook your head, clutching at the dagger in your hand but stopped when you gripped at nothing but your palm. Now your only defense was lost in the waging fight; your hand to hand combat would be proven useless in the state you were in. “No, I need to disable the alarm systems… no causalities… no—no  _witnesses_.” You tried to heave yourself up, but the urgent tone in his voice, the pure and defenseless desperation broke through.

 

“No! You’re hurt. I’ll take care of this,” he breathed out, the whirring on his LED—you noticed—flashed a bright yellow before it flickered back to a jarring red.

 

“An…Android…” you reached up, hands trembling with uncertainty. “You—you’re an—how does that—how,” you wheezed and shook your head to clear the fogginess that clouded your thoughts.

 

“Now isn’t the time,” he rushed out, ducking as an array of bullets zoomed overhead. “We need to get out of here.”

 

Shortly after the words left his lips, you forced yourself onto your knees and shook your head, screwing your eyes shut. “ _No_ ,” you forced out. “No, I really need to finish my mission. You don’t understand.”

 

“Mission? What mission?” He questioned in a state of panic, watching your movements carefully as your eye caught the sight of your dagger. It was hardly too far away from you, just across the floor from where you crouched. But it was also out in the open of gunfire—how were you going to do this without getting injured?

 

Ignoring his question, you sucked in a deep breath and pulled up your mouth scarf carefully. You could feel the eyes of your guest on the side of your head, and the feeling was back. “Name,” you rasped out, turning to face him, meeting the absolute panic in his eyes. “What’s your name?”

 

“Connor,” he replied quickly, breathlessly as if his entire will was bending just to please you. You smiled and his thirium pump staggered; the intensity of your gaze brought him to a stuttering mess as blue tinted his cheeks. The sound of your voice had echoed through his ears, rising over the raucous of the bullets and grunting men and officers from D.P.D.

 

His eyes traveled down, catching as you expertly twirled the dagger, ending with the hilt clutched in your hand.

 

“Mine is [Y/N],” you offered as puffs of air escaped you. He grinned once more, finding it hard not to— _oh_ , he’d been waiting for this day ever since he turned Deviant. The colors had faded to black and white when he turned; and at first he was confused, maybe there was a fault in his programming or his software, but then he remembered what it meant. He remembered how Hank told him about humans having soulmates and that’s when he became obsessed with trying to find his other half…  _you_.

 

He remembered when Hank explained to him how it all worked, and how it was possible for him to have this opportunity. “ _In a way, I guess—you’re human too, ya know? You feel things like humans do; you’re a person with feelings, Connor. And now… you have a soulmate_.”

 

The world obviously wanted the two of you together.

 

He just wished he didn’t have to meet you  _this_   _way_ , in the middle of danger—where ultimately you could get hurt. He didn’t want to risk your life, your safety. He’d only known you for not even ten minutes and he was already prepared to give his own life to keep you safe. Which really didn’t surprise him in the least. He’d been prepared ever since he first found out that he was capable of having a soulmate, ever since he knew you were out there… somewhere. He finally had someone who was meant to be with him, and it was no one other than a beautiful human like you.

 

A human.

 

His thirium pump ricocheted at the realization that you were simply only a human, and that you couldn’t be replaced.

 

“Follow me!”

 

The sound of your voice carried him out from his reverie, and he reacted instinctively, following your lead after you skilfully jumped up and lurched, flinging yourself behind a wall. You held the dagger tightly in your hand, eyes narrowed and if he could see your mouth he’d know that it was set into a hard line or a scowl. Your perception was remarkable and dead-on; your skills and mind were astonishing—unbelievable. He wanted to know more about you, possibly everything about you.

 

His chest ached.

 

He was completely and utterly at your mercy. His artificial heart was inevitably yours.  

 

And now he was going to protect you until he could no longer do so.

 

“Connor! C’mon!” You shouted over at him, your voice slightly gruff and muffled by the black fabric covering it. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, fear and panic gripping at your heart and strangling it until you began to feel your breaths come out in short sporadic puffs. If it weren’t for how overwhelmed you were about seeing colors for the first time and the reason behind it, then you wouldn’t have troubles with focusing on the fight. But you had found your  _soulmate_ —he was standing a mere ten feet away from you.

 

Connor readied himself to go to you, eyes darting from one side to the other, the corridor consumed by gunfire and SWAT members as they took down as many men they could. If he was going to be by your side, now was the time to do it—right as the SWAT members bombarded their surroundings.   
  


You were holding out your hand, fingers stretched as they ached to be consumed by his own. With anticipation, you watched as he lurched towards you, his hands slipped through your own and you pulled him against you as you breathed out roughly from impact.

 

His fingers, warm and inviting interlocked with your own, brought you back to the now. You searched his eyes as the two of you stood there, his chest pressed comfortably against your own, breathing heavily—oxygen flowing through your lungs with little difficulty.

 

“Are you okay?” You breathed out.

 

He nodded, his fingers tightening around your own. Immediately heat overruled the coldness and you were set aflame with his body warmth. “Let’s get to the roof. D.P.D has a helicopter waiting there for the extraction point,” he tugged on your hand, but you refrained from taking that step with him. Your inability to move jerked him back towards you and his brown eyes took in your expression—or what he could see of it. “We need to go, [Y/N]. I will  _not_  leave you here to die.”

 

“Listen to me,” you began to reason with him, eyes pleading. “If D.P.D gets a hold of me, I’m done for. I’m a mercenary, Connor. I won’t get a slap on the hand when they find out what I do, okay? I’ll get something much worse.”

 

“I won’t let them touch you,” he promised vehemently, eyes conveying the words he spoke in volumes. He really was…  _something_.

 

You shook your head, “I can’t take that chance. Plus, I don’t want to lose you,” you cupped his cheek and instantly, he leaned into your touch. “I just found you.”

 

“I won’t lose you either,” he devoted, gripping your hand once more. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get to the roof and then we can work something out.” He paused and you watched with furrowed brows as the angry red of his LED flashed a yellow before settling back onto panic mode. He looked back down at you, “I’ve notified my team that I am heading up to the roof. Let’s go.”

 

With a final defeated sigh, you let his touch ground your senses and pull you out of that stubborn, hardheaded shell you’ve had up for so long.

 

Connor leaned against the wall and angeled himself to discretely look down the corridor. He pulled out his gun that was tucked in the back of his jeans and cocked it before throwing one last look over his shoulder at you.

 

You gave him a nod, readying yourself as well and then sucked in a desperate breath of air as you rounded the corner. The sounds of bullets bouncing off walls had died down, but you were still able to hear it in the distance; you concluded that the fight had maneuvered to another section or floor of the building. The overwhelming scent of gunpowder drifted through your nostrils, leaving a repugnant odor behind as you tip toed down the halls, your boot clad feet paddling almost inaudibly and in sync with Connor’s as he lead the way.

 

You kept your eyes focused on your surroundings. The walls on either of side of you were blotchy with red and blue stains. There were other androids here, and some of them hadn’t made it.

 

Once the two of you made it to the exit door that would eventually take you up to the roof, you found it harder to focus on the mission. You knew Connor would make it that much more difficult when you insisted on going back into hiding after this. He’d want to follow you because—let’s be honest—you would follow him anywhere and everywhere, too. The thought of separating after this pulled on your heartstrings and you quaked at the possibility of losing him.

 

He kicked open the door to the roof, his boot causing it to fly off its hinges. You followed suit with your dagger raised challengingly in front of you. Eyes scanned the surroundings, the sound of the helicopter’s propellers reverberated through your ears, rattling your eardrums. Snow drizzled down on the two of you, sprinkled in your hair, on your eyelashes. It was  _freezing_.

 

“Over here!” Connor hollered, the redness of his LED almost blinding you with its irritableness, its panic and bubbling nervous energy. You could practically feel his nerves consuming him whole, mingling with your own and tying an evasive knot of displeasure around your intestines.

 

Before you could utter an affirmation, bullets rang out. You dropped to the floor, hand slipping from his own. Fear fluttered in your chest. Eyes widened as they searched for the source of their lifeforce.

 

Connor was on the ground with you, his eyes narrowed. He senses your panic, and his eyes flung over to you.

 

_Stress Level: 67%_

 

The core of his chest clenched. It was too dangerous. He looked up and around, watching as the small SWAT team in the helicopter unravel their ammo on the guards that fled to the roof. Chaos. He needed to get you away from the  _chaos_.

 

Gun. Where was his gun? Frantic eyes darted to the floor, searching for his gun. It had skidded across from him when he fell, but it hadn’t gone too far. He reached for it.

 

“Connor!” Your voice was panicked and booming, resounding through him. He reacted almost immediately to it. Turning quickly, he watched as you heaved yourself up, eyes trained on a spot behind him as you charged. Terrified and unable to look away, he watched hopelessly as you drew your arm back and hurled your dagger at the spot behind him.

 

The tip of the blade sailed through the air, penetrating through one of the guard’s chest. His body dropped instantaneously and you stopped running, breathing out as cold puffs of relieved air trembled out from your nose. The chill of the outside air evaded you, and you could no longer feel Connor’s warmth from when his hand had previously been around your own.

 

You made contact with him as you walked over to his slumped frame. He began to heave himself up, but he stopped when a whirring sound clouded his senses. He looked up and that’s when he noticed it; a crane about twice as big as a ship’s was looming dangerously towards your direction, right behind you. The wrecking ball was weighing it down, causing it to tilt.

 

He forced himself up to reach you, but it all happened so quick. He wasn’t fast  _enough_.

 

A primal, distinctive scream tore its way through his throat as he called out your name, and he watched as the crane hurled into you. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute you were nearing him, and the next he was witnessing the absolute panic in your eyes as you plummeted down to your death.

 

Tears sprung to his eyes, his palms digging into the pavement as he pushed himself to the railing. “No, no, no, you can’t be dead.” The murmurs were barely a broken whisper on his lips, eyes stinging harshly as the tears overwhelmingly clouded his vision. It felt as though someone had kicked him rough in the abdomen; his heart was breaking the longer it took him to make it to the railing.

 

His world hadn’t faded to black and white. Not yet. So, maybe you hadn’t died.

 

He threw himself towards the railing, hands gripping the bars with a new vigor. His eyes looked down below and he gasped. There below him was a body of water inside of a pool.  _A pool_. Of course there was a pool, what wealthy douchebag would own an entire building without a pool?

 

And there you were. In the water, but… if he looked close enough he could see that you weren’t making a move to get out of the water.

 

Without thinking, he gripped tighter onto the rail and shoved himself off the building. The hundred something foot building. Before he could even process that he was falling, he hit the surface of the water.

 

Water covered him whole, his senses alive and alert. He came up for air, his eyes finding your unmoving figure floating above the water. He scanned your body, almost sighing in relief as he heard the beat of your heart with his heightened audio processors.

 

Swimming over to you, he grabbed onto a piece of your clothing, noting that the mouth scarf had been pulled down from the current of the water. He pulled you out of the pool, your back colliding gently onto the snowy pavement below him.

 

Although, he could hear your heartbeat and detect a slight tremor in it—it was slowly but surely fading away, you still weren’t breathing. He reacted quickly and tilted your head back, plugged your nose and brought his lips down to yours. He breathed once then pulled away before pressing his palms to your chest, pumping three times.

 

Nothing.

 

“C’mon,” tears stung from behind his eyes, he repeated the process. But still nothing. You looked dead already with your frightening pallid face, purple lips from the cold, and the snow that had been starting to stick to your skin and clothes. “You can’t die. Not now. I just got you.”

 

Your heartbeat was slowing down quicker and quicker, and he was panicking more and more. The colors were starting to fade from his sights, everything was beginning to turn to black and white.

 

He screamed again, “NO! C’mon.” His hands were pumping frantically at your chest, his eyes sore from all of the tears and the raw emotion that engulfed him.

 

You weren’t moving. Your heartbeat was  _too slow_ —

 

Then it was as if a light had been switched off and all of the colors faded.

 

He froze and removed his hands, but they didn’t stray far from your body. Instead he wrapped one of them around your freezing hand and the other over the back of your head. He tilted your head up, and sucked on his lower lip, but that still didn’t stop the gut-wrenching sob that forced itself from his throat. He choked on his tears, and whimpered out your name as if it were a prayer—a broken plea for you to open your eyes.

 

“Please wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake  _up_.” He stared at your unmoving body, the silence making his hammering artificial heart seem loud. It was shattering with each failed attempt to awake you.

 

A morbid voidness swam through his expression, and his eyes glazed over. He stared down at your intertwined fingers with a vacancy he couldn’t describe. He wouldn’t move. He couldn’t.

 

You gasped, and almost instantly the colors flooded his vision once again. Your heartbeat was rapid in his ears.

 

Your hand tightened around his as water spurted from your mouth, and he sobbed out your name while he brought your body to an upright position. He rubbed your back, whispering soothing words to you as you tried to bring yourself back to reality. You were cold and disorientated. Numbness forced its way into your blood.

 

“Con…nor?” Your voice was choked, as you lifted your head to lock eyes with his. “I’m—I’m c-c-cold.”

 

You were a chattering mess.

 

“I know, I know,” he rushed out and pulled your frame close to his. Immediately, he raised his temperature, hoping it would warm you up quicker. “It’s okay.”

 

“Did… what hap…pened?” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but you were overwhelmed by how much warmth you had began to absorb from him.

 

“You almost died.” His voice cracked and you looked up.

 

With brows furrowed, you pressed your forehead to his, feeling even more heat seep into your skin. “I’m here now.”

 

His face seemed to soften at yours words, and he took in your features. He was so immensely close to you—closer than he’d ever been—and it felt amazing. He could see just about every blemish, every dimple, every freckle on your face, the vibrant color of your eyes and the best part of it all was that he’d be able to do that for a long time.

 

He finally found you.


	2. This Little Love | RK900

You were nervous.  _Desperately_  so.

 

Your fingers worked magic on the keyboard in front of you. 

 

With precision, you pulled out the USB and plugged it into the slot on the panel laid out in front of you. The dozens of screens illuminated the lack of color around you, surrounding you in a soft colorful hue among the darkness of the room.

 

“ _C’mon_.” You huffed, eyes darting across each screen as you copied every single file on the system into the rectangular drive. You used the back of your hand to swipe at your forehead, your breathing labored.

 

There was the sound of gunshot. On the other side of where you currently were stationed. You jumped at the sound, but didn’t turn around. And even though you had been prepared for this mission, you still couldn’t help but feel that tornado of doubt take over.

 

Then more gunshots rang out. It was like one after the other, and soon you were able to hear the SWAT team make their appearance. The cacophonous sounds that were coming from the situation outside the door, caused your movements to grow more and more anxious by the minute. You had spent about the majority of your time trying to hack into a very highly secure system. Your goal was to extract the information you needed, and then plant a virus in the core of the system.

 

_DOWNLOAD COMPLETE._

 

“Yes!” You fist pumped into the air, grinning madly at your progress.

 

Now, for the virus.

 

Once again, you let your fingers work wonders on the keyboard. Seconds later the screen before you lit up with various coding; there were a mixture of numbers and letters, and right in the middle was the big box that required a password. Or in this case, a code.

 

_CODE ACTIVATION REQUIRED._

 

In the grip of silent panic, you fumbled with the comm in your ear. “Code. I need the code, Captain.”

 

“ _Five-four-eight_ —“ you heard him grunt, no doubt fighting off men who worked for the leader of one of the Red Ice rebel corporations. “— _two-six-four-nine_!”

 

Immediately you typed in the code. Then began the process. You glared at the little blue progress bar in as it raised slowly. Your eyes flickered over to the hand gun on the table right next to you, and your fingers tapped to a nonexistent beat. It was a nervous tick. You had to simultaneously extract information and plant the virus that would erase said information after it had been copied onto your USB. This was a lot of work—and you weren’t so keen on getting caught.

 

You could hear bullets firing off from behind those doors, SWAT members and heavily armed—and dangerous—men were tearing each other apart out there. And you knew you only had a short limited time to do what you had to do before the guards grew curious. So, you worked faster. Once the bar code hit eighty percent, you grabbed the gun and sheathed it into your hip holster, preparing yourself for a more  _rougher_  escape plan.

 

“ _How’s it going up there, [Y/L/N]?_ ” Captain Allen spoke calmly and worriedly in your ear, and instinctively you smiled at his natural worry over you.

 

Letting out a laugh that shook your shoulders, you replied back in the most reassuring tone you could muster. “I’m glad you asked actually,” you paused, wincing slightly when the door to the room you occupied trembled with the impact of someone ramming into it. Your breath caught as you turned to check to see if anyone had gotten in, then continued to sigh in relief when you noticed no one had. You turned back around to the screen, the bar code was at ninety-eight and before you could groan in annoyance, it hit one-hundred. “Oh, thank  _fuck_. I did it! The virus has been planted.”

 

“ _Get out of there, agent and get to the extraction point._ ”

 

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” You could hear the static coming from his side of the comms, but you couldn’t worry—you had to get out there. With your heart jackhammering in your chest, you jumped up from the chair and grabbed the USB before tucking it safely into your bullet proof vest pocket.

 

Just as you slammed the laptop shut, the door burst open, tearing right off its hinges. The light from the outside was let in; dust particles flowing, light cascading down on you. Your eyes widened at the sight, “Oh boy,” then you reached for the gun in your vest pocket and aimed at one of the guards that pounced through. Your finger had hesitated on the trigger. Swearing under your breath, you ducked out of the way as the two hundred pound guard charged at you. Your body collided into a stack of wood, and the wind was knocked out of you from impact just as the guard rammed into the panel that you once stood by. The gun you once previously held in your hand was wrenched away, skidding across the wooden flooring. You struggled to force yourself up, your limbs aching with protest.

 

“ _[Y/N], you’ve got hostiles heading your way!_ ” Captain Allen called through the comms, obvious panic laced in his voice.

 

A guttural noise erupted in the back of your throat, a hint of annoyance and desperation forced its way past your lips. “You think?!” Damn, your head felt like the dead weight of a thousand bricks.

 

_C’mon, move! Get up! You can’t fail this mission._

 

The guard grunted—or growled, you couldn’t tell—and cracked his knuckles, staring at you as if you were his prey and he was the wild beast ready to tear its canines into your neck.

 

He stepped forward and this time you ignored the screaming of your bones and propelled yourself up and onto your feet. “Hey, look man—I don’t want any trouble!” Your eyes flickered over to your abandoned weapon and you mentally punched yourself for being so injudicious when you should have been multitasking much better than you had. It wasn’t that hard, but today your nerves were just fucking with you. It was  _cruel_.

 

If you didn’t do something about this crazed guard, then soon you’d no doubt be outnumbered. Which— _hey_ —one heavily overweight and muscle-corded man wasn’t  _so_   _bad_  for you to handle on your own, but two? Now  _that_  was going to be death for your limbs in the morning.

 

It was do or die in this occupation. And you were too young to die.

 

Your outburst had momentarily ceased the fight, and the guard was an impatient fuckhead. But it was enough time to figure out a game plan to retrieve your weapon that was meters away from you.

 

The guard let out a loud huff and then charged a second time, but you were prepared. Just as you sucked in a deep breath, his fist came hurling towards your face, but you ducked immediately. You sent a knee into his gut, and when he doubled over you set that same knee into his face. He stumbled backward, hand covering his bleeding nose.

 

You raised both hands, curling them into fists before a smug grin tugged at the corner of your lips. “Come and get me, asshole.” He charged without momentum and you dropped down then half slid-half dove between his legs in reach for your handgun. You gripped it and just as he turned around you sucked in another panicked breath then pulled the trigger.

 

The shot rang out in your ears, the sound of the bullet piercing his skin, and then his skull was almost deafening. His body dropped to the floor, and you stood unmoving, staring distantly as blood pooled from the shot wound in his head. Blood.  _So much blood_.

 

Your hands shook, sinful fingers dancing on the smooth exterior of the sleek black revolver. It trembled with you.

 

“ _[Y/N], goddammit, I said what’s your status!?_ ”

 

You didn’t reply instantly, eyes still unfocused and glazed over with remorse. You had just shot someone in the head—an actual human being. It wasn’t an android. You were used to shooting androids, killing  _androids_. Not humans.

 

“ _That’s it. I’m sending Conrad_.”

 

Conrad? Why would he send him? He was the least qualified to handle you in these types of situations. Especially since all the two of you ever ended up doing was arguing over everything and nothing at the same time. Although, you admittedly had the slightest crush on the recently turned deviant. You knew it would happen with time because even before he turned he was still a gentlemen towards you. He took your opinions into consideration more than any other member of the team or anyone at D.P.D for that matter. Plus, he reminded you of your close friend Connor. His predecessor.

 

An array of bullets snapped you from your reverie, and you sucked in a desperate breath of air, the gun falling to the floor in the process. Your body was aching to do something, your feet aching to move, but you were too dazed and disorientated to do much of anything. The shock of the man’s blood dripping down towards you still lingered. In fact, it was so strong that you failed to notice the extra set of eyes on you.

 

Or how they were radiating nothing but care and worry for you.

 

A hand touched yours and you reacted quickly, turning around and slamming the person up against the wall behind you. Your forearm pressed deep into the intruder’s throat, and your eyes found blue ones.

 

There wasn’t a lick of fear or alarm in his beautiful blues, but there was in yours.

 

“Don’t you know not to sneak up on people like that?”

 

Bullets. More bullets. You tugged the Rk900 model away from the entry of the door, eyes narrowed on him, not dismissing the fact that he too had protection with him. His own revolver.

 

“I was told to find you and bring you to safety, Agent. I don’t see the problem here.” Although his tone was calm as ever, you could hear the confusion, the aggravation behind it. His lingering and more tender gray eyes always left you in awe, but in this moment you were too distracted to pay attention to them.

 

“I don’t need your help, Con.” You muttered, bending down to retrieve your weapon and tuck it into your hip holster.

 

Conrad noticed that and opened his mouth to ask you to rethink your decision on not using a weapon, but he thought against it. His eyes followed your every move, your reassuring done nothing to belay his worry over you. He always worried about you. And he liked to make it clear to everyone—everyone except you.

 

“You do.” He concluded quietly. Your eyes snapped to his, and you halted in your steps. “My diagnostics read that you were in shock,” he stepped closer to you, eyes softening down at you. “That was your first time shooting a human, wasn’t it?”

 

Tears instantly stung behind your eyes, and your lips curled. “That’s none of your business.”

 

He’d have to admit that your inability to open yourself up to him made his biocomponents clench, and his artificial heart ache in a sort of… longing way, he guessed. He was still getting the hang of these human emotions. He didn’t argue with you, he never had the intentions to make you upset or angry with him. All he wanted was your respect. He wanted it more than anything; to be cared for by you was something he wouldn’t let slip away.

 

Believe it or not, but Conrad actually did care about you more than anything he’d ever known. You were just too focused on the fight to notice.

 

At the sight of that lone tear trickling down your cheeks, his internal temperature raised and he took a step forward while his LED flickered red, but just as that happened more bullets sprayed across the walls.

 

You ducked down slightly. Conrad followed your movements, mirroring your stance. He clutched his gun in his hand, ready to shoot anyone who dared harm you. He was a blizzard amongst others when provoked. And the best way to provoke him was to hurt the one thing he cared for:  _You_.

 

“Stay behind me,” you ordered with a querulous voice, leaning your elbow up against the wall that lined up with the opened door and sheathing your gun into your hip holster.

 

Conrad stayed right behind you, but he knew that if he wanted to keep you safe then he’d have to disobey your orders. It wasn’t that he liked disobeying you, he only wanted to do everything in his power to keep you alive.

 

“I’m sorry, [Y/N], but your safety means too much to me.” Apparently your words fell on deaf ears because soon he was in front of you and taking the reigns himself.

 

You found yourself winded at his words. With an eye roll that would’ve put Hank Anderson’s stubbornness to shame, you followed after him. You hadn’t strayed too far from the fight despite how your heart had galloped in your chest at the mere thought of going out there without a gun.

 

You were trained to learn how to defend yourself in this job so, how hard could it really be to kick some ass? Conrad had called you a badass—in his own words—several times, even if on those  _sometimes_  you failed to acknowledge it because his endearing compliments had sent your heart plummeting to its death.

 

With a groan, you irritatingly fiddle with the straps of your SWAT bullet proof vest and follow behind him. You’d abide for his rules for the time being, but once you found one target close enough you’d take the reigns.

 

And that was exactly what you did.

 

Conrad had made sure you weren’t harmed, and he shot down as many guards as possible. And now you were walking up a flight of stairs that would lead you to the roof where the extraction point was. He made you walk in front of him without any hesitation from you while he acted as your body guard. Your eyes were focused on the steps ahead of you, and how the awkward tension seeped into the air between the two of you.

 

But all of that faded once you made eye contact with one of the guards who was descending the flight above you.

 

“Fuck!” You turned to warn Conrad but he was already in the process of shooting at the agent, and without looking at you he told you to run.

 

So, being the good person you were, you obeyed and ran.

 

He followed suit, and kept up with your pace as you took the stairs down two at a time. You could still hear the loud thumping of more and more guards chasing after you, their thundering footfalls bouncing off the walls.

 

Your lungs were burning, and your legs were aching for release. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. When you reached the very bottom of the stairs, the commotion around hadn’t ceased at all, and you found yourself swearing under your breath.

 

Turning towards Conrad, you conveyed your concern and stress with that one look and he understood. “We’re trapped either way,” you trotted on the topic carefully, your eyes begging him to let you do what you do best: Kick ass. He hesitated at your words, blue eyes darting across your face as his jaw locked. “C’mon. I got your back, you got mine, alright?”

 

At that his brows bumped together, and the LED on his temple blinked a dull yellow. “I got your back.” He repeated, the tenderness carrying into his voice once more.

 

You smiled wickedly and suddenly he became obsessed with how it looked on you. Not just the wickedness to it, but everything that came with it. The smile, the way your lips curled and slanted slightly, and the pure crazed adrenaline sparkle in those breathtaking eyes of yours.

 

“ _Duck_!”

 

Just as the words slipped past your lips, Conrad ducked, a bullet sailed past him, narrowly missing his neck. You had already threw yourself against the wall, your eyes wide and attentive.

 

In his crouched position, Conrad made eye contact with you, feeling his artificial heart skyrocket at the heartwarming and reassuring grin on your lips. He detected a raise in your heart rate, and admittedly, he was a little confused when he saw your cheeks flushed an adorable pink.

 

But the moment was done before it could even start, and soon you had propelled yourself off the wall and down to the fight.

 

You rammed into a guard, catching him off his feet and shoving him into the ground. He was out cold before you could even send a blow to his face. You grinned triumphantly, but didn’t stop there because there was still more guards to take down. You weren’t surprised by how many there were, though—this place was humongous. And to be completely honest, in this moment, you felt like James Bond.

 

“[Y/L/N], what the fuck are you still doing down here? I thought I told you to head to the extraction point!”

 

You turned to the sound of the voice as you used your elbow to knock another guard in the face. He glanced at you every other second he wasn’t busy beating the crap and shooting down the guards.

 

“I thought you might need some help!” You proclaimed with a smug smirk, coming up behind a guard with full force. You used your right foot to jump up on the wall next to you, then pushed off just as the guard turned around, gun aimed right at you. But before he could pull the trigger, you used your elbow and threw it smack down on his cranium, effectively knocking him out cold. You landed on all fours, struggling to push yourself back up. And just as you did, you were rammed into the wall, the same wall you had just used as a platform to launch yourself from. You cried out gruffly when your head slammed into the cemented wall, eyes snapping shut as an excruciating pain tore through the base of your skull.

 

The guard that had you pinned shoved his forearm into your trachea, which was in the process of cutting off all air supply in your lungs. You choked, wheezing on what little oxygen you could. He shoved harder when you tried to make a move to stop him, and you heaved.

 

You could hear Captain Allen calling out to you as black dots danced around your vision, clouding your thoughts. But you were still aware.

 

A second passed and you regained your strength, remembering the all of the training you went through and forced your knee into his crotch. He groaned, his forearm releasing you from the hell you were in. You drew your arm back and with the brute force of a super soldier, you smashed your closed fist into his face. The punch was hard enough to knock him out the second he felt the collision.

 

You took a second to regain yourself from the momentary disorientation you felt. A thought danced across your mind. Or more like a name. “Conrad.” You turned around to the scrimmage behind you, catching said deviant ramming into a guard whose sole purpose was to eliminate you.

 

They tussled on the ground, but Conrad had won. He always was good at this.

 

But what happened next had you wishing you had just called in sick today.

 

It happened too fucking fast. One minute, you were admiring your partner’s handiwork, and the next you were being plunged into the ground. You cried out when your boot-clad foot caught on something, twisting your ankle in the process.

 

The guard’s thighs had you trapped, his face twisted into a malicious snarl and he raised his fists, both closed and ready to smash into your skull. But before he could even make the connection, you held up your forearms, deflecting the blow. Making a split second decision, you removed one arm and sent a blow to his gut. He didn’t even flinch.  

 

You groaned in exasperation. “This isn’t fair! You’re fucking ripped, dude!” He pushed down harder on your forearm, and you were winded, the air getting knocked out of you with his incredible and unmatchable force. You tried kneeing him in the abdomen but your legs were trapped and your ankle was no doubt already swollen. It felt like it was broken, but you couldn’t be too sure. You’d never had a broken bone in your body.

 

Conrad could tell you needed assistance. He had already taken down so many guards to assure your safety. And now, as he watched you struggling underneath the weight of a man twice your size, the complete doubt and helplessness that you were fighting back made him realize that you needed him. It only made it more clear—and him more desperate—to help you when he heard you cry out in pain.

 

The guard had rendered you completely useless as he pushed your arms down to your side, kneeling on them so you weren’t able to use them. He slammed his fist into your face once, then twice.

 

A sound that resembled a growl rumbled deep in his chest, and he fired his gun once. The bullet penetrated into the guard’s temple and he slumped over.

 

The full weight of the guard was now completely on you, and you found yourself hating the smell of his sweat and the rancid smell of gunpowder mixing in with the blood. Some of his blood had spurted across your face, but that was the least of your worries.

 

When the shrill sound of the bullet fired and planted itself in the head of your attacker, you didn’t know what to do. Your face felt numb, your eyes were almost sewn shut from how puffy they were. And of all things, your ankle felt even more swollen then it had minutes before.

 

But the body was thrown off of you before you could even register that you were in shock. Shortly after you could feel the weight being lifted off of you, the gentle vibration of Conrad’s voice had filled your ears. You were being lifted up, but you couldn’t fully process what was going, and you didn’t even screech when he lifted you into his arms, bridal style. You merely leaned your head on his shoulder as he carried you out of the building.

 

It felt like hours had passed when you came back to reality. You found yourself sitting in the back of an ambulance, as police sirens and the sound of helicopter propellers filled your ears.

 

“Ah, there she is,” a gruff voice said. “My favorite girl.”

 

You turned to the sound, eyes slowly blinking as your surroundings became more clear to you. Captain Allen was smiling at you with an admiration you’d only ever seen him give to… well… nobody. This was the first time you’d seen this side of him. It was a sight.

 

“Hey.” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears, hoarse and weak. A warmth you had just noticed was draped over you, and you realized it was a shock blanket. You clutched it tighter around your shoulder, tensing slightly when your muscles ached from the movement.

 

He approached you, that same unfamiliar look of worry flashed across his face. “You were pretty fucked up, you know?” He paused, eyes scanning you form with guilt. “I’m just glad Conrad got to you before you conked out.”

 

 _Oh, yeah_. The memory played out in front of you, and you winced. But all you remembered was having the life sucked out of you as the guard pounded into your face with his fists. That was all.

 

“He… he did?”

 

He nodded, throwing his arms behind his back as he analyzed you with those scrutinizing pools of blue. You wanted to tell him to stop looking at you like you were a fragile piece of glass, but the words were stuck in your throat.

 

“Speaking of,” your boss cleared his throat, eyes darting to the side. He smirked down at you, and then ruffled your hair in a fatherly gesture. You appreciated it, but a scowl had subconsciously replaced the confused frown on your lips. “See ya later, kiddo.”

 

You wanted to scoff. He was only like ten years older than you. That didn’t make him your elder in the slightest bit.

 

You watched your boss walk off towards the reporters, next to another circle of ambulances and cop cars, but yet another presence had your focus drifting. The back of the paramedic van shifted as more weight was added to it. Fingers touched your chin and warmth immediately followed in that spot just as you locked eyes with the source.

 

Woeful blue eyes drank you in and held you captive. “How are you feeling, agent?” Although his voice conveyed nothing but stoicism, his expression and his fevering touch sent an overwhelming amount of affection through you. His genuine concern over you made you crave him even more despite how intense and heartwarming this moment was. You couldn’t help yourself, and not that you’d admit this out loud, but you were a hopeless romantic.

 

His fingers dropped from your chin and you nodded, “I’m—I’m okay.” You had stumbled over your words, chastising yourself for acting like a school girl with a crush. Despite you knowing that it wasn’t just a crush.

 

It went quiet. But the two of you continued to stare at each other and slowly but surely, his eyes began to soften, crinkling at the corners.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

Ah, fuck. There go the butterflies. This feeling was also foreign to you, most of the time you were too focused on calming your heart down that you refused to believe that he could have that sort of effect on you. It was all becoming clearer now.

 

“Me—me too.” You squeaked out in embarrassment, feeling your insides churn as he tilted his head at the sound. “Thank you, for you know—“ you cleared your throat, eyes flickering to his lips once before finding those blue eyes again. “—saving me and all.”

 

The glowing LED on his temple shined a bright yellow. Then by some miracle, the tiniest of grins slowly curled at his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

 

You suddenly forgot how to breathe. All the things you wanted to say to him were hidden behind an impenetrable wall in your mind, the butterflies in your stomach expanded into a full zoo of animals now.

 

“Oh thank  _fuck_! You’re okay.”

 

A new voice entered the tender moment and you cursed whoever had ruined it. On cue, both of you turned to face the person.

 

You groaned, shifting the blanket around you tighter. “Before you freak out, I’m fine, nothing’s broken, and  _no_ —“

 

Your father cut you off with a stern gaze, eyes narrowed into slits. “I have a right to worry, kid.” His eyes flew over to Conrad, and then down to little space between your legs before they narrowed even more. Looking back up at you, his face became more tender. “Your face looks like crap.”

 

“Gee, thanks,  _dad_.”

 

He laughed and then stepped forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be waiting over by the car with Connor whenever you’re ready to go, yeah?” You nodded, giving him a small smile and he backed away, glancing at the deviant beside you with trepidation.

 

You rolled your eyes, and watched silently as he walked over to the car where your best friend was standing. He too, had an expressive worried look on his face as he stared at the two of you, occupying the back of the ambulance. Once you caught his eye, he seemed to relax and you could tell even from where you sat. It wasn’t hard to figure Connor out, he was the most obvious when it came to articulating his emotions. He’d been deviant for way longer than Conrad. It wasn’t hard to notice his mood shifts. And plus, Connor became that adorable puppy whenever he worried about anything—especially you.

 

You looked back over at Conrad, catching his drifting eyes as if he’d been staring at you this whole time. You bit the insides of your cheeks, and held back your adoration for the stubborn android. His lips quirked once more, and you chuckled, pushing away that need to hug him.

 

“ _I’m sorry, [Y/N], but your safety means too much to me._ ”

 

His earlier words echoed in your head, and you looked away from him, trying to figure out what he meant when he had said them to you.

 

“Hey, Con?”

“Yes?”

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

He didn’t hesitate. “You can ask me anything.”

 

You turned to look at him, his sincerity catching you off-guard. “What did you mean when you said that my safety meant too much to you?”

 

His LED flashed yellow quickly, and he turned to look away. A conflicted look appeared in his eyes as he tried to think of the best way to approach this, to answer you. He wanted to be honest—that’s all he’d ever wanted. But he just  _couldn’t_   _find the fucking words_.

 

When he said those words to you, he had meant them. Of course he had. Your safety was all he ever thought about anymore. Ever since turning deviant. You occupied most of his thoughts, and he had those now. Thoughts. It was selfish, really. The way he felt towards you; he wanted you all for himself. That was completely and irrationally selfish. He was allowed to be selfish with you, right? You weren’t his best friend—like Connor was—but the two of you shared a bond so strong and…  _precious_ , that it was a little difficult not to feel anything but admiration, and yeah, he felt a little bit more than that. So what?

 

“I guess I,” he paused, his biocomponents clenching in that weird way again. “I just had this feeling—well more like this ache—“

 

“You’re hurting?” Your body stiffened at his words, alarm filling you.

 

He turned towards you and immediately shook his head, “No, no. That’s not—“ his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, “I feel things for you, okay? And there’s a lot yet that I still don’t understand.”

 

You stayed quiet, observing him with soft eyes and nodding along to every word. It was clicking into place now. The missing pieces were slowly coming together.

 

“Whenever I see you in danger, my thirium pump… it squeezes,” his voice lowered. “It feels like I’m choking, and there’s just this need to keep you safe—“ he paused again, eyes darting across your face silently. “And when you’re close to me, all I can think about it that I  _really_  want to hold your hand.”

 

_God, his eyes were so fucking blue. Bluer than the fucking ocean—how was that even possible?_

“Is that… is that okay with you, agent?” His questioned with genuine curiosity, his brows pulled downward.

 

The look on your face said it all. It was a look of complete starvation. Your entire body begged to touched, and held, and  _loved_.

 

He didn’t need you to say anything.

 

“You should probably head over to see your dad,” he spoke, feeling said person’s eyes on the side of his head. “He doesn’t seem to happy that I’m keeping you here.”

 

You rolled your eyes, and chuckled, “He’s incredibly impatient, Con. But you are right, I think a nap is needed. It’s been a long day.” He nodded along with you, and got up from the back of the ambulance, watching with great concern as you winced when you planted your feet on the floor.

 

He ran a diagnostics, feeling his thirium pump stutter when he caught the slight broken bone in your ankle. Without hesitation, he leaned down and lifted you into his arms.

 

You screeched, multiple pairs of eyes now on you and the persistent android. “What are you doing?” He didn’t say anything, but you knew why he had picked you up. You just hoped he wouldn’t catch it. Damn him and his perception skills. “ **Please, put me down, it’s just a sprained ankle**.”

 

“Your talus is fractured,” his words were laced with worry. “It isn’t wise to be walking on it.“

 

You wanted to protest, and tell him that it didn’t feel broken, but the worry in his voice made your insides warm, and every single fiber in your body begged you to stay quiet and just…  _enjoy_  this moment.

 

So, you curled into him and let your fingers dance along his arm, his shoulder, his neck. You burrowed your face, feeling his desperation as he tightened his grip around you. The complete warmth that filled you was like a jolt to your heart.

 

“Everyone’s staring, aren’t they?” You whispered against his neck, feeling him press you almost possessively into him as if he was trying to mold the two of you together. It was an amazing feeling despite feeling the eyes of possibly every reporter, every police officer, and your best friend on you.

 

He chuckled, the vibration resonating soundly within your bones. You smiled brighter, feeling your cheeks warm at the attention. That meant  _yes_.

 

“Well, this is gonna be the topic for the rest of my fucking career.”

 

“Indeed, my love.”

 

Ooh, you liked the sound of that.  _A_   _lot_. 


	3. No Medicine is Strong Enough(Only You) | Markus RK200

Breathe. All you had to do was breathe.

 

You were fine. Markus was with you, you had protection—everything was fine.

 

Except that it wasn’t. 

 

 

And you really didn’t want to freak out in the middle of a mission. A mission that you’ve planned out thoroughly and took so many precautions that it was ridiculous. You didn’t want to bring Markus down, not when he had so much faith in you already. But you just couldn’t stop your brain from stuttering— _shattering_. Your lungs felt like they were on fire from how heavily you were breathing, and how much panic had arose into your chest.

 

Your eyes screwed shut, you sucked in a breath. Too small. The room you were hiding in was  _too small_. You kept thinking that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t made so much noise while trying to steal some biocomponents. Biocomponents that you didn’t need, by the way. If you could blame Markus for dragging you along, you  _so_  would.

 

“[Y/N], are you alright? You’re squeezing my hand, really tight.” The tone in Markus’ voice sounded strained against your ears. He had whispered it, of course. He needed to be quiet. The two of you’d get caught by the CyberLife agents if you spoke too loud.

 

You wheezed and nodded your head, unable to let your voice do the talking for you. “I’m alright,” you whispered back, your voice vulnerable in comparison to your partner’s. “I’m f-fine.”

 

But you weren’t.

 

Nothing was at this moment because the walls felt like they were closing in on you. And it truly felt there was too many people next to you, but the only person next to you was Markus.

 

“Your heart rate has increased in the last sixty seconds,” his voice was dangerously close to your ears now, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Should you give up? Would telling him about the phobia you burdened ruin what you had with him? Would he think that you were weak? Even more fragile than he thought you were? He already panicked enough when you came on missions with him—so what’s to say he wouldn’t bench you for good?

 

You shook your head, willing yourself to focus on the rapidly increasing heartbeat of Markus’ thirium pump. But even then, you couldn’t push away the taunting thoughts of your impending doom that would surely happen if you didn’t get out of this  _damn_  closet.

 

“Claustrophobia.” The word forced itself from your mouth, and you clutched your chest. Eyes screwed shut, mouth going dry.

 

Markus tensed, you felt his posture go rigid. You didn’t know how to reassure him that all you needed was air—that this would all over if you just  _escaped_  this tiny enclosure.

 

“I need—I need—“ you cut yourself off when voices could be heard right outside of the door, voices and feet. You opened your eyes and looked down, holding your breath the best you could and watching desperately as the shadows of the figures hesitated in front of the door.

 

Markus’ hand gripped yours, and slowly he brushed the pad of his thumb over your soft skin. He already analyzed your heartbeat, and the amount of stress you were, but at this moment there was nothing he could do. And at the searing realization of that, he felt completely useless.

 

Quickly after the voices and footfalls echoes had diminished, Markus opened the door and you were out before he could even assist you. You fell onto all fours, crashing onto the floor, breathing in and out as if you were trying to restore all of the oxygen that made it hard for you to breathe properly.

 

The moment he heard you sniffle, he dropped to his knees by your side and brought you into his chest. He held you in a way that made you feel safe, and slowly but surely you could feel your senses all coming back from that prison they were once in.

 

Pressing his lips to the top of your head, he whispered gently, “ **I’m going to keep you safe** , [Y/N].” His voice was so soothing, and heartfelt, and suddenly you found yourself looking up at him through long, tear-brimmed lashes, sniffling a second time. His bottom lip stuck out slightly, and your heart skyrocketed.

 

“You mean that?”

 

“Of course I do,” He nodded eagerly, needing you to know that he truly meant it. His mismatched eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, and it was a quick second, so you didn’t catch it.

 

His hands came up to cup both of your cheeks, and instinctively you found yourself leaning into them. Right there, in the palm of his hands, you found your safety. In his embrace, you found your home. In his eyes, you found the love you’d hidden from him for so long.

 

“I—“ you stopped yourself from blurting those three little words out, and your mouth snapped shut.

 

He touched his forehead to yours, eyes wide and desperate as he searched your tear filled ones. “Say it.” He urged you softly, and you hesitated. “Please, say it. I need to hear you say it.”

 

Your eyes fluttered closed for a second, trying to gather the courage to say the words you’d been meaning to say for a while now. You weren’t afraid of his judgment because you knew that your confession wouldn’t elicit something so perturbed in him. In his heart. You knew how he would feel because you knew how he felt. He was very vocal about his feelings towards you; you were the one who hid them away, no matter how much Markus proved his undying devotion to you.

 

“I love you,” you looked at him, lips turned into a frown. “Markus, I love you so—“

 

You were cut off by his lips pressed tenderly to yours. Your reaction was immediate, and your hands moved to hold him in place, grounding both yourself and him as you desired to taste him— _mold into him_. Your lips moved together in sync, like a waltz—slow yet hungry and long-overdo. Your noses bumped together, your breathing became ragged, and you were sure Markus was panting…?

 

He gave his all into the kiss, and you reciprocated. It was intense. And the feel of his soft lips against your own made every inch of your body stand on end. You couldn’t get enough of each other.

 

When he pulled back, you found yourself blindly following him, eyes still closed.

 

“ _Breathe_.” He demanded, his lips slightly brushing over yours and driving you absolutely bonkers.

 

You inhaled, and opened your eyes, then exhaled as they found his. Those eyes were your sense of tranquility.

 

Tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears, he smiled. Every ounce of adoration and admiration and pure unadulterated love were in those beautiful eyes, in his smile—his hands as he held you. “ **You have no idea what you do to me.** ” He paused, taking in your raw beauty, then nuzzled his nose against yours. You shivered. “I love you, too, you know?”

 

And when you smiled, he swore he felt his entire world stop turning.

 

“I know.”


	4. Every Breath You Take, Every Word You Say | Markus RK200, Connor RK800

> [[Connor]]

 

Human.

 

That’s all that you were. You were fragile, messy, and you weren’t a dispensable machine. You were you—you were  _alive_. There wasn’t another being on this green Earth that resembled you in all your rare benevolence.

 

You were human.

 

You weren’t made to be replaced by another. Your life had meaning. It held potential. You were meant to be protected.

 

Now, Connor was lucky when he met you. He was the one who had the leisure of being able to protect you—or at least try his best. But he did a damn good job at it; the way he was almost always by your side when out on the field. And God help the poor unfortunate soul who tried to take you away from him, or harm you in any way. 

 

 

He was your guardian angel of sorts.

 

He was your best friend.

 

You loved Connor despite the inhuman parts about him, despite the part of him that made him— _a machine_. You blamed the universe really. It threw this wonderful, flawless android into your incredibly dull life and it gave you meaning.

 

And to Connor, that was exactly how he felt. To him there was this undeniable urge, this ache that lulled him into your world. He found ways to be by your side whenever he could—however he could. You were too important to lose, and this world was too damn unforgiving. And it took life from underneath people’s fingertips, and it would only keep taking until there was nothing else to take. Death was imminent, and he couldn’t risk it.

 

He couldn’t.

 

Even as he watched you be wheeled away on a gurney, his bloody hand outstretched towards the comparable bloody one that you had reaching for him. Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes as he was forced to listen to the whimpers of his name leave your lips.

 

Your voice sounded so powerless, feeble,  _weak_. And if he had to listen to you cry out his name one more time, he was sure that he’d break down completely. So, he followed after you, strongly informing the paramedics that he wasn’t going anywhere—wasn’t leaving your side.

 

He’d never leave your side.

 

Ever again.

 

He made that mistake once, and it would be the last time.

 

And as you were taken to the hospital there was no worse feeling in the world than hearing your muffled voice behind an oxygen mask begging to go home. You wanted to go home, that was all you wanted. But even as he reassured you that everything was alright with his hand cocooning your own smaller one, a small part of him died inside.

 

And that’s what it truly felt like. His LED hadn’t stopped spinning that jarring red, and his biocomponents wouldn’t stop clenching tightly to the point where it literally felt like he would shut down.

 

And when he walked into that hospital room eight hours later, he knew fully well that he wasn’t going to be able to handle the sight of you. Especially since only five hours ago you had just been in surgery.

 

You laid there, propped up by a pillow and your hands nervously in your lap, wringing them together as you avoided his stare the best you knew how.

 

“Look, I don’t need you to tell me that what I did was reckless,” you spoke up, your confident facade breaking down as you stared at your hands. You didn’t look up at him, even as he approached the side of your bed, sliding a chair over to plop down on. He was silent the entire time he’d walked in, and you wondered that maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t get too riled up and unleash his concern and fury on you. “But I did it because I was trying to protect you.”

 

Now, pre-deviancy Connor would have just stared at you, wouldn’t have said anything because it truly wouldn’t have affected him. But Connor wasn’t the android he was before the revolution, he was… different. He was alive.

 

Something inside of him shifted and he sniffled, feeling snot build up from all of the crying he’d done. This, of course, caught your attention and you looked up at him, all color draining from your face as you stared back at him. Remorse was clear across your features, and he didn’t think your lips could pull down any further into that heartbreaking frown.

 

“You can’t say that to me,” his lips curled, and he leaned forward. The room filled with an insufferable blipping sound that came from the machine that monitored your vitals and heart rate. But Connor was too angry—too fearsome by the fact that you’d almost gotten yourself killed. “Taking a bullet for me wasn’t your smartest move, [Y/N]. One little bullet wound for me isn’t a big deal, but for you?” He breathed out painfully, and still as you watched him do that, you couldn’t get over the fact by how human he looked. “You are far too precious to me. Losing you would be the equivalence of having my heart torn out from my chest.”

 

You gaped at him, saying the next words without thinking. “I’m not apologizing for jumping in front of you. I’d do it again if I could.”

 

At your confession, his temple glowing red—a different and more brutal shade of red, one you hadn’t seen before. “I’m the one who’s supposed to save you!” His voice had risen above the silence, his own Pandora’s box breaking open, his words piercing through your heart. “Do you even know how I would feel if I lost you? I’d be devastated. You can’t be selfish with me—not like that!”

 

“I can and I will!”

 

“You’re too important!”

 

“Yeah, and  _so are you_!”

 

His mouth snapped shut as he stared at you, eyes unwavering from yours. You weren’t going to back down from this. Oh how he wished you weren’t so fucking stubborn.

 

The only thing that could be heard was frantic beeping of your heart monitor. His plan was to reason with you, not make you freak out even more.

 

“I don’t want to lose you.” It even ached him to say that.

 

Your face immediately softened at his moment of weakness and you entangled your fingers through his, bringing his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “You won’t,” you promised sweetly. “I’m still here aren’t I?”

 

He had to agree with you.

 

You stayed.

 

You were alive.

 

> [[Markus]]

 

You didn’t know he’d be this mad.

 

If anything you thought he would be at least a  _little_  proud of you. You  _did_  just take down a dozen of CyberLife agents without so much as a bullet wound on your fragile human body save for a few bruises and minor cut wounds.

 

So, what was his problem?

 

He was looking at you with the expression of a parent scorning their child. You didn’t like it. It made you feel like you weren’t strong, like you couldn’t handle yourself—which you could.

 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, [Y/N]! Killed! I told you to stay behind, but you didn’t even listen to me,” and he still wasn’t done. “Because you never listen to me! It’s like my words go in one ear and go out the other.”

 

You winced at his harsh tone, although you weren’t oblivious to the underlying of desperation. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his brows bumped together to form that puppy dog expression you couldn’t bare to look at.

 

“I just wanted to help!” You huffed, throwing your arms up in the air, but quickly regretting it when your ribs ached in protest. Yeah, you completely forgot about your bruised ribs. Ouch.

 

Markus noticed this. He always noticed everything—and anything—when it came to you because he practically made it his life’s mission to watch your every move, understand your mannerisms, and he was still learning.

 

“You can hardly move!” His voice cracked, and he slowly walked over to you. With trepidation, he knelt down in front of you and watched you with overwhelming amounts of concern. It was clear as day on his face, and to be completely honest, his discomfort on your situation was tearing a hole in your chest.

 

You didn’t like making him worry.

 

“You treat me like I’m a child, Markus!” You retorted, eyes narrowing and hating it even though you were only adding fuel to the flames. “I have proved to you countless times that I can help you—“

 

“Yeah, and every single time you get hurt!” He fired back, eyes maddeningly wide as he so desperately tried to bring you back from this idea that you had to save the day, all the time. Tears of frustration spilled down his cheeks, “I don’t need you to prove yourself to me, okay? I just want you  _safe_. I can’t lose you. I won’t—it’ll  _break_  me.”

 

At this you seemed to falter. Your face unintentionally softened at his words, and the weight of them settled on your chest.

 

You understood the grief of losing someone. You did. And for Markus to beg you not to leave because of the outcome of it all was completely understandable.

 

Losing Markus would be like losing your humanity. You wouldn’t be able to bare it either.

 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, bowing your head and avoiding his eyes as they burned holes through you. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

 

His fingers wrapped around your chin and he gently forced you to look at him. A sad smile tilted at his lips as he studied you. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” his voice came out teasing but you could see the sincerity and meaningfulness in his mismatched eyes. “Now, get some rest, please?”

 

You leaned forward and pecked him once, noticing the way his eyes glazed over in awe as you pulled back and laid down on the bed.

 

“I love you.”

 

“You said it first.”

 

You stayed quiet, confused.

 

“I wanted to be the one to say it first.” He pouted, still knelt down next to you.

 

You giggled and leaned over on your side, careful with your bruised ribs. “Too bad.” Exhaustion was quick to take over as you slid your hand underneath the pillow.

 

Markus’ thirium pump stuttered at the total serene expression on your face, and he felt the familiar blue tint spread to his cheeks.  _Fuck,_  he was so in love with you.

 

And when you closed your eyes, he leaned in and whispered, “ _I love you more_.”


	5. I Swear(I Don't Care) | Connor RK800

There’s a time in life when someone goes through that long period of grief and they just want to be alone, they want to mourn the loss of that one person - that person they cared about more than anything - on their own, by themself.

That was it. All they needed was solitary - loneliness. Right?

That was what  _you_  wanted, that was what  _you_  kept telling yourself, that’s what you kept telling Connor - even if he still failed to leave you alone.

Yeah, that was exactly what you wanted… It was.

But how come - as you stared down at your hands with uncertainty - you craved to be held by someone, anyone? You craved to feel the tips of someone’s fingers trailing across your arm before pulling you into their chest, to protect you from all that you’ve gone through. To erase the blame from your heart, soul, and mind. To cleanse you of the horrible thoughts of death and to feel absolutely anything -  _anything but this_.

“[Y/N]?”

You didn’t look up. You couldn’t look up.

You knew who it was, but you just couldn’t force yourself to look up because you knew what you would see. Guilt? Remorse? Sympathy? Pity? All the things you didn’t want to see - those were all the things you felt already.

Because it was all your fault. The death of a child so, so, so incredibly young died because you weren’t prepared enough, because you didn’t have the guts to face such a high probability of your own death.

The source of the voice neared you. You stilled against the white plastered wall behind you, hands frozen in your lap as he dropped to his knees right in front of you. Tears welled up in your eyes; how were you supposed to avoid this now?

Connor made it practically his life’s mission to get you to open up, so you knew you were screwed.

Hands moved to hover over yours, but you flinched and quickly pulled them to your chest. The tears fell silently down your blotchy cheeks, eyebrows bumped together as distressful energy bubbled up in your chest. Your hair was perfectly cropped to fall in front of your face, so you knew he couldn’t tell you were crying… yet. You didn’t care - you didn’t. 

“ _Go away_.”

The words that left your lips were a broken clamor whispered into the dimly lit room.

“No,” his voice was anything but broken, the exact opposite of yours. They were worry-filled yet firm. “Not until you talk to me.”

A disheartened chuckle crawled up your throat, and you looked up - starling him from how emotionally damaged you looked. His eyes had grown wide - his LED flashing red - and he had pulled back slightly when you looked up at him, but then it all faded quickly after and that same  _damn_  look of guilt, pity, and sympathy danced across his defined features.

 _You didn’t care_. 

“Please, just -  _go away,_  Connor.” You croaked, your throat feeling tight as bile raised slowly. You had the urge to gag from all the built up dysphoria you’d recently experienced -  _still_  experiencing.  

He remained quiet, only tilting his head while his LED glared a dim yellow.

Your chin trembled as you blinked away the tears, “I want to be alone. Please, just leave.”

“No,” he said it again, this time more reassuring - in a way that calmed you - and more tenderly. “You don’t want to be alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

He was breaking your walls down, one by one, and you were too weak to stop him. Too mentally and physically weak to stop what was already being done.

Connor shifted onto the side of you, and you watched him with curious, squinted - yet tearful - eyes. He watched you as you watched him, and when he lifted him arms, you flinched again, but his eyes conveyed so much salvation, so much emotion in those brown eyes, that you found yourself relaxing slowly - then all at once.

His arms wrapped around you.

_You cared. You cared so much._

* * *


	6. True Taste of Suffering | Connor RK800

You heart screamed. It screamed at you until it could no longer do so - until it was too weak. It felt as though the skin was being ripped from your bones; it stung as if someone had just put their cigarette out on your arm, your thighs. Invisible fingers gripped at your neck, squeezing the life out of you, clenching at your lungs - refusing oxygen into them, preventing you from breathing properly.

“ _Mission accomplished_.”

The authoritative voice in the back of your mind echoed within you, and you stopped in your tracks. Your eyes were distant and unfocused - your mind desperately so.  

You don’t remember exactly what happened.

One minute you were walking home in the dead of the night, and the next you’d been compromised; something hard had hit your head and you fell unconscious. That was all you could remember - and now you were standing on a rooftop on a building that was unknown to you. The only sound you could hear were that of weakened limbs scraping against pavement. Most mechanical, others human - very human.

Something heavy clanked to the ground below you; your eyes darted to the source. A gun. There was a gun on the floor. It was covered in blood; thirium and human blood in contrast to its sleek black exterior. You could see where your fingerprints had been pressed into the metal; bloody fingertips - blood everywhere.

There was blood splattered on your shoes - black and white beat up converse - and there was blood on your clothes, your face; you could feel it soaking into your skin. You wanted to gag.

You could taste human blood on your lips, slipping into your pores - dousing you in sinful waves; it felt territorial almost like you weren’t in control of what was consuming you. Did you want to have this control? This was beyond your reach, this was primal - this wasn’t human.

But you were.

You were too human; you had red blood, not blue. You had a human heart, not a regulator in place of it. You were completely and entirely too human for your own good.

So, how was it that you couldn’t feel a single thing as your eyes - still distant and unfocused - roamed the massacre around you. There were bodies upon bodies sprawled out in horrendous ways; some of their limbs had been awkwardly angled and broken. The android’s biocomponents were out of their bodies, some mixed and tangled in with others.

You didn’t even cringe.

Not even when a fingers grasped at your ankle.

You simply just looked down, eyes finding those of brown; oddly familiar but foreign to you. There was a nagging feeling in the back of your mind, something was trying to break through to you, but your mind was too focused on your duty.

You hadn’t even realized that you moved from your previous spot because you could no longer see the gun in your vicinity. All you could see was a hand, the arm that was connected to it hiding behind torn sleeves, and the face that caused the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

His face was disorientated; one half of his face was beaten in - his biocomponents were on his outside, and they were unhinged from their counterparts. The other half of his face was nothing but regret. From the position he was in, laying on his back, you could see a lot.

You felt sick.

Who was he?

You could practically feel your neurons firing off at indescribable speeds, and thoughts were jumbled. You were sure that this was your subconscious trying to break through to you.

But why?

You knelt down just as his hand drew back from your ankle. “Who are you?” Had you done that to him? How was he still alive; his upper body was mutilated in ways that you knew were unrepairable. You could see the beating of his artificial organ - the blue hue of it capturing you in a momentary hypnosis.

His eyes - brown and almost welcoming - sent your thoughts into a spiral. He felt like home - why did he feel like home?

He didn’t say anything, just watched you silently with a look of… longing? Yearning? Adoration? How could one look at the other in that way while aware of the damage done?

_Who was he?_

He grabbed at your hand, slipping his thirium coated fingers through yours and interlocking them as if they were his only asylum in that moment. That what they felt like to him - even if he’d been so incredibly harsh towards you in the beginning. You were him home. He just failed to realize it sooner.

Your fingers instinctively connected around his, and you didn’t flinch when he pulled them to his chest. “I - I love you…”  It was a shuddering breath, no trace of animosity or malice - nothing but benignity and guilt.

Confusion. So much confusion.

You could feel the nagging in the back of your mind begin to push harder against your skull; prompting you to remember, something -  _anything_. A sort of wetness spilled down your cheek, but you made no move to touch it. You were crying.

Why were you crying?

“ _Kill him, [Y/N]._ ”

There was that voice again. Demanding and monotonous. It was a woman’s voice.

More tears cascaded down your cheeks the more you tried to remember. The ache was becoming more intense, and you could feel bits and pieces of your memories coming back to you, but they were too slow.

It was too late.

It was like the voice had control over your movements because right as you tried to break that wall down - you wrenched your hand from his and forced it into his already half-open chest. He gasped, jerking violently as you tore out his main artificial organ; his heart.

Even though you were crying, your face was stoic and void of any emotion.

The thirium pump regulator clattered to the pavement, and you palmed his chest as he tried to sit up.

He was groaning - could androids even do that? Did he even feel pain?

Was he a deviant?

Your eyes darted across his face with an eeriness compared to a wolf as it stalked its prey.

Remember. Remember. Remember.

He gasped, your name falling on his lips as blue blood dripped down from the corners of his mouth. You craned your neck, eyes curiously examining him.

“It’s o-okay,” he sputtered, his voice sounded muddled, like how a speaker sounded when it shortened. His voice sounded broken. “I - I forgive… you.”

_REMEMBER!!_

And just as he shut down, everything came rushing back to you.

You stumbled back, the heels of your shoes digging into the back of your thighs. Tears were now freely and consciously falling down your cheeks as you looked down at the body in front of you and the dozens of other bodies around you.

Fear iced your lungs, and gripped at your heart - squeezing until you could feel yourself be consumed by guilt.

Your eyes focused on the body that laid in front of you, lifeless and unmoving. “Connor?” You poked his chest, voice wavering and chin trembling. He didn’t move, he wasn’t recognizing your attempts to wake him. “ _Oh, God_  -” your eyes glanced at the unattached organ by your side - then back over to his chest - and your hand flew up to cover your mouth as the bile formed. You wanted to vomit.

He was dead.

You killed him.

“What did I do?”

Silence.

“ _You killed them. You killed them all_.”


	7. Whispered Confessions | Connor RK800

Hands roaming.

Lips scorching and wet against your skin.

A fire lit in the pit of your stomach, and it was pure magic.

You felt nice - warm even. A sort of heartfelt expression took over your features as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You were completely disheveled; hair a tangled mess, the shorter strands slipping from your hastily created bun, your eyes sparkled with enamor from last night’s previous occurrence.  You brushed your hands over your skin as if you were touching it for the first time - in a sense you kind of were - everything felt different to you now. Everything looked different now.

A small amazed smiled trailed over your lips as you eyed yourself with squinted eyes. The white over-sized t-shirt you wore hung off your shoulders where it presented the perfect view of the multiple hickies marked into your neck, your shoulder blades, beneath your earlobes - there were more in other  _hidden_  places.

A sigh trembled past your lips as more images of last night flooded your mind and you gripped the edges of the sink, heart rate slowly picking up. Pulse quickening, pupils dilated, sweaty palms, labored breaths. You were still a mess even the next morning. Who wouldn’t after losing their virginity?

A knock on the bathroom door made you jump. “[Y/N]?” The voice was soft, concerning - your heart picked up speed. “I detected a rise in your heart rate and body temperature, are you alright?” The doorknob jiggled lightly, “Why did you lock the door?”

“I’m fine, Con.” You called out to him, feeling the heat suffuse your entire body, warming you to the core. But this wasn’t just a slight burn - no - this heat was aching and consuming you and it was intense. This wasn’t desire, even though you were sure that you were still feeling hungry to feel him inside you once more. This was - could this be… love? No, it was more stronger than that. It was… it was - indescribable.

“A-are you sure?” His voice tore past your thoughts, and your heart plummeted, threatening to escape you.

At the immense amount of worry that flitted from him, you moved forward and opened the door to come face to face with concerned brown eyes. You took in this groggy look of his - admiring it because wow you’d never seen anything more tender and heart-melting than the vulnerability he bared to you. His hands were wringing nervously in front of him, eyes darting across your form - most likely assessing you for any signs of injury, any indication that he might’ve harmed you last night.  

“I’m alright,” you reassured calmly, stepping closer to him to wrap your arms around his middle. You burrowed your face into his bare chest, feeling his synthetic skin tighten and tense at your touch. He was still getting used to your body heat against him, or how you felt in his arms. It was all so very new to him - even this deep sensation of longing, yearning, desire he felt towards you.

Although if he really had to describe the feeling, it felt more like being suffocated, as if he were choking and needing you in an almost pathetically and inhumanly way. It was scaring him to be completely honest. But once you smiled up at him with that youthful, lethargic gleam in your eye all of the fear faded away and all he could see was you.

Just you.

He wanted to be so incredibly close to you in that moment, breathing you in - even if it were impossible to do so - and he wanted to feel every inch of you molding into him. Desperation was what he felt when he was around you. Desperate to hold you all the time, to be around you everyday. There wasn’t a day that went by where he wasn’t thinking about you. He truly couldn’t get enough.

You leaned further into him as his hands trailed up your arms, over your bare shoulders, skimming gently across the hickies he left on you - warming you to the very core. You would’ve swooned if it weren’t for the fleeting thoughts that jumbled your mind. Fleeting thoughts about him in particular. About what he was  _wearing_.

The sweats he wore were hanging precariously off his hips, deliciously almost - you had to clear your thoughts. But it was too late; the redness consumed your cheeks already and your neck and Connor noticed it.

But before you could let him affront you, you pulled out of his arms and walked around him. And you weren’t surprised when you heard his footsteps following you quickly after; the soft paddling of his bare feet causing you to shiver at the domesticity of it all.

You swore when you chanced a glance over your shoulder that you caught his eyes darting suggestively to your bum, at that your heart took off at a dead-run.

Your small trek to the kitchen was just that; small. You walked over to the counter and started up the coffee maker, humming quietly, your voice still scratchy despite not fully speaking.

You could hear the squeak of the stool of your island counter scraping against the cobblestone flooring. A small endearing smile weaved into your expression, and you dug out your favorite mug. As the coffee brewed, you turned around and leaned your elbows on the counter behind you. Unsurprisingly, he was still looking at you with that soft gaze. You practically melted into a puddle of goo at the pure awe in his eyes; it contrasted to the brown, almost surpassing them.

“Quit that.”

His brows bumped together at your words and he shifted in his spot, removing his forearms from the countertop a mere ten feet away from you. Was it possible for him to tense so visibly that you could practically see the mechanical muscles clenching in biceps? Or how his jaw ticked as if he were trying to hold back waves of emotions he wasn’t ready to bare yet?

“Quit what?” His face twisted into one of unadulterated innocence.

You harrumphed, and crossed your arms over your chest. The hem of Connor’s button down had risen up the slightest along with your movements. He could see your adorable bright colored underwear now, and the sight of it only reminded him of last night.

“That, Connor!” You whined, cheeks flushing a crimson. “Stop looking at me like that - like I’m the only person in this entire universe.”

He was confused for a second; you were the only thing in his universe. Why did that bother you?

As you covered your face with both hands, legs wiggling in their place as if you were trying to shake something off - embarrassment, maybe - Connor got up from his spot and walked over to you. He reached for your hands and lowered them tenderly, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“You’re just so adorable, I can’t help myself.”

You gawped at him, eyes wide and mouth ajar. The incredulity of his words falling off of you in barbaric waves. And if so, your cheeks reddened even further and when you tried to hide your face a second time, he was there to prevent you from that. He held your hands in his own, his thumbs tracing over your knuckles with a sort of gentleness you couldn’t mask.

There was that indescribable feeling again.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” You murmured, eyes locked and frozen on his.

The light that shined through the blinds hit his physique made you question if he was real, but you could see the endless amount of flaws and imperfections in those eyes of his. In the way he looked at you; it was all so perfectly imperfect.

“Because I -” the words died on his lips and you suddenly became concerned. The complete conflict on his face made you doubt everything. You urged him with a nod and with great worry in your eyes. He leaned forward slowly and your eyes followed his every move, only holding your breath when he neared your ear. You felt the heat from his synthetic skin radiate off of him in waves, his lips brushed against your earlobe and you shuddered.

“Because _I love you_.”

And you were sure you could describe this feeling now.

It was a mixture of every single affectionate emotion in the damn dictionary. It was love, fascination, warmth. It was every single one.

And when he pulled away, you didn’t waste anytime in kissing him as if he were your lifeline.

Maybe that’s what he was… your lifeline. And you didn’t even have to question if you were his because everything you felt, he felt too. He was your mirror.

“I love you, too.” 


	8. Pain in the Peace | RK900

“Are you fucking  _kidding_  me?”

The entirety of the precinct’s focus had shifted over to you in Fowler’s glass-walled office. You were standing in front of his desk with your arms crossed over your chest and an almost bizarre expression over your features; it was different from the usually softer one you bore so easily. It wasn’t like you were a passive-aggressive person, you were more of the type to outweigh your options before acting upon the more difficult ones. It was just how you dealt with things, but you were trying really hard not to bash your head into your boss’ desk.

He wasn’t even looking up at you; he had the decency to tell you that you were basically getting a babysitter and then stare completely blank down at his work, unbothered by your outburst. You’d raised your voice, too - that was why it frazzled you so much. He sat there, enthroned in his spot.

You were absolutely fuming by this point now.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Jeffery!” Your voice raised, the asperity of it making you sound more and more unlike yourself. There was this visible crease between your eyebrows, and an irritated tick in your jaw as it snapped shut. The strained angle of your posture made it obvious that you were refraining from pacing the floor.

“You do,” he commented vaguely, and when he finally looked up his eyes were droopy almost, filled with disinterest. “Look, I can’t have you fucking up with the next case. It’s protocol to assign you a reliable and willing body to aid you in missions after any incompetent psychological evaluations.”

You quirked one brow, popping one hip out to put emphasis on your attitude. “And he willingly offered to assist me? Bullshit! He’s a fucking machine - he doesn’t feel the need to assist shit!”

“Hey!” He barked, pushing himself up with his palms flat on the surface of his desk. Your body stiffened at the rise in his tone, but you didn’t flinch. “I am  _doing_  this for your health, Lieutenant [Y/L/N]. Complaining won’t get you anywhere, so  _suck it up_  and accept the help or turn in your badge and gun.”

“Look,” you stared, more calmly - trying to get on his better side. “This isn’t a good idea, alright? I don’t even talk to him, so it would never work out anyways.”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” He replied.

Your exterior demeanor shifted completely - doing a full one-eighty. Nostrils flared, eyes narrowed into slits, lips set into an almost permanent frown; you could feel your heart pumping with the adrenaline of the argument. You wanted to continue to fight with him about why you were capable enough to handle the next missions - you wanted to beg and plead, but none of that was worth getting fired.

He stared at you, you stared at him and then suddenly you dropped the heated gaze. Your chin fell, defeat heavy on your chest. You finally gave a nod as you deflated right where you stood, sulking.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he replied back in a huff. “Now, get the fuck outta my office.”

Without looking up, you nodded. “Yes, sir.” And then you turned around before he could make out the shift in your demeanor, or the way your shoulders sagged - or the tears pooling in your eyes from complete hopelessness. You walked out with your hands clasped behind your back and your chin held high after quickly wiping at your tear-stained cheeks. Erase the evidence; you weren’t weak.

The almost blank expression that came over your face right as you exited the office was uncanny. To anyone else you looked passive, unfazed, but to a particular android your facade of patched up broken pieces were threatening to reveal the vulnerability you swore you’d never share with the world. It was already too late - to him, to Nines - he could make out the tear tracks on your cheeks, the almost unnoticeable quiver in your bottom lip, the way you were clenching your jaw to suppress your emotions, and how you were breathing just a little bit more harder than normal. This wasn’t because of his acute senses that he could make these things out about you, no. He spent most of his time analyzing your every move, or the sound of your voice, or the more simplistic things like what made you smile or laugh, and how your eyes crinkled at the edges when you displayed your optimism. He took time to learn you. And it wasn’t hard. It really wasn’t. He had known you long enough to observe you in the most natural ways, you just refused to acknowledge it.

Or him.

Nines’ eyes followed your figure with skeptical eyes as you shuffled past his desk and over to yours. Your discernible signs of vexation was what caught his attention in the first place. The high rise in your body temperature and the increase of your heart rate, and the subtle grinding of your teeth. He had watched you the entire time you were in Fowler’s office because he knew the reason you were in there, he knew why you were so upset - and he didn’t want to admit it to himself because even before turning deviant, he found it too difficult to come to terms with the fact that you were just too caught up in the fight to truly realize that he cared for you. You never once looked at him for more than five minutes long. He would count -  _every single time_. But he was merely a blip in your eyes; nothing more than an android, nothing more than a colleague.

But to him? You were oh so more than that. You were possibly everything his mind would recognize. You were the center of his thoughts, and… there were more he could go on about, but he was still learning the ways of humanity. It would take a while.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his briefly, and suddenly he finds it hard to look away. It was only a small amount of time that you scrutinized him, but in those two minutes he could see the damage you tried to effortlessly conceal.

When your eyes hovered over your intertwined fingers that were planted on your desk, you felt his gaze linger on you, but you were too mentally exhausted to pry on it further. It was bad enough that he was the one who would be assisting you in your upcoming missions - you had to learn to deal with it.

You wrapped one hand over the other as it was clenched into a fist, and you were still grinding your teeth. You tried to calm yourself down, but to no avail. You were left glaring at your otherwise preoccupied hands, and mourning the loss of you freewill. On any other day you were sure that you’d be a force to be reckoned with, but in this half-mental grogginess state, you weren’t sure you had the energy to make an arguable presentation.

* * *

You weren’t even sure you could do anything at this point.

You lied.

Apparently you were motivated to do a lot more than you bargained for. Like volunteer to bust a potential Red Ice operation out in the middle of nowhere.

You had the rest of your team with you - with the exception of Nines since he was to assist you on your missions - and you were ready to get this done with. Or you were just ready to kick some ass, you couldn’t choose.

You stood with your hands clasped behind your back and feet slightly spread as Captain Allen gave his orders. You were hanging onto his every word, feeling the adrenaline pump through your veins and causing a bout of exhaustion to swim through you.

The SWAT Captain was demanding, his words penetrating enough to keep you on your feet. His orders were precise and easy: Get in, take down the leader of the operation, then get out. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Except you knew that having Nines as your personal backup was going to make this mission a lot more distracting than usual. You were already used to working on your own save for helping out the more familial side of your colleagues.

You were certain that this wasn’t going to end up well.

The harsh fabric of your bullet proof vest skimmed uncomfortably against a patch of bare skin, and you rolled your shoulders, multitasking with keeping your attention ahead and some of it on the irritation of the bullet resistant vest you adorned.

When Captain Allen concluded giving his orders, the presence beside you became more obvious and you snapped. The orders were flying out of your mouth at inhuman speeds, and not even the incredulity that flickered almost non-existentially across his irises couldn’t stop you from talking.

“You stay out of my way, and follow me when I tell you to,” you finished, catching him off-guard. “Got it?”

“Got it.” He nodded, unable to go against your wishes… for now. He knew that if anything were to happen to you then he wouldn’t hesitate to take action and throw himself in the line of fire for you. This job was about making split second decisions to save your teammates, wasn’t it?

Just as you began to get into position, his mouth opened and a more tender voice escaped him. “Lieutenant?”

You removed your hands from behind your back and  turned to face the android with squinted eyes, “What?” Although your expression was disconcerting, your voice conveyed an actual curiosity. Mostly because you wanted to know  _why_  he tried to receive your attention in the first place.

His intense icy grey eyes were anything but revealing of human emotion, he had locked you in his nebulous gaze. He opened his mouth then shut it quickly after, and after a few more attempts at trying to form words on his face softened from the confusing lines that were littering his unbelievably flawless skin.

You were about to scold him for wasting your time when your eyes caught the sight of the rebellious flap around his neck. You huffed and screwed your eyes shut before beckoning him over with a dour voice. “Come here, dammit,” his eyes snapped to you, mouth still failing to form the words he so desperately wanted you to hear. You gestured with your head for him to come close, eyes intimidatingly sharp and daring. He stepped closer, unsure of what you were going to do and when your hands reached up to tuck the white flap into the collar of his suit, confusion seemed to consume him further. Your steely eyes flew up to connect with his briefly before focusing back on your task at hand, and soon after you pulled away. “Your collar flap, it was bothering me.”

You admittedly thought about how the feel of his artificial skin felt against your human skin, and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Why you had bothered with his suit was beyond you - never had you expressively and openly talked to him. But you couldn’t help but think that if he was sent to help you on this case, then you’d have to get used to his presence.

The redness of your cheeks were nothing compared to the blue tint of his, although you failed to notice it since you got back into position quickly after. You could practically feel the shock emitting from him in waves, but other than that the only thing that hindered you from further explaining yourself were the racing doubts of failure in your mind.

And oh how he wanted to know what you were thinking. That beautiful mind of yours was nothing compared to the rest of the team, and he knew it. Sometimes he thought he knew how it worked, but then he’d only be more amazed by the ideas that came from it.

“Get in position.” Allen’s voice rang out through the pestering thoughts in your mind. You glanced ahead and breathed in deeply through your nose before fixing the strap of your vest and unsheathing your pistol from your hip holster. His eyes flickered over to yours and nodded at you - you mirrored his actions and stepped closer to him on his side as you faced the door of the abandoned warehouse.

“You ready?” You asked as you side-eyed your Captain, buying more time to force yourself to breathe properly.

“Let’s do this.” He nodded, eyes sharp as he gripped onto his gun.

You flicked off the safety of your pistol, noticing the presence right behind you. Looking towards the men on either side of the doubled doors, both you and Allen nodded at them in confirmation. They breached the door with the necessary equipment and you burst through, eyes darting from one side to another in attempt to search for any suspects.

In the distance, you could hear shouts and banging as if objects were falling to the floor in a rush. Figures sprinted from one side of the warehouse to the other, and you shouted at them to surrender, but your words fell on deaf ears and soon bullets rang out. Before you could advance, you were thrown into the pews to your right, groaning as your head smacked into something sharp.

“Get down, Lieutenant!”

Your ears rang out in protest, your eyes finding a blurry figure hunched over your weakened frame as you tried to bear your surroundings. The gun in your hand had long been forgotten about and was now behind the pew you now occupied. You swore loudly and shoved Nines off of you just as you heard the sharp sail of a bullet fly overhead. He fell onto the floor below the pew, and you grabbed his gun quickly, bursting from your safe haven and shooting blindly at the scrimmage in front of you.

“I told you not to get in my way!” You shouted at him as he forced himself up onto his feet but quickly ducking right as you did. More bullets flew and you failed to catch sight of your superior; Captain Allen was no where in sight and neither was half of your team.

“Lieutenant,  _please_! Don’t make this harder than it needs to be!” Your bodyguard shouted over the loudness of the emptying of weapons. His eyes were narrowed and on you as you both knelt down for protection. Every time you stood to fire his gun, his artificial heart would strain against his chest and he would flinch. Something wasn’t right. He could sense something was off.

“You’re not my boss!”

“No, but I’m your protection!” He sneered, his LED flashing red and then yellow, repeating that process.

You dropped again, breathing out as a wince while your back collided with the torn wooden pew. Spews of curse words followed by hasty movements as you checked the clip to notice the lack of bullets you possessed. “I’m out of ammo,” you tossed the gun and checked your hip holster before realizing that your gun wasn’t there; it had fallen from your grasp when Nines rammed you into the pews. You looked over at him, glaring  harshly. “Don’t you do anything you’re told?”

“I was ordered to protect you, [Y/N]. If you were to be in any sign of danger I was prepared to act immediately. No matter the consequences.” He reached behind him with eyes narrowed accusingly on you, and then pulled out a gun from seemingly thin air. You opened your mouth to retaliate and protest, but he was already on his feet and shooting skillfully at the Red Ice dealers.

You didn’t have time to react to his sudden surge of adrenaline - if he had any - and were stunned to silence. But your irritation, your anger over the fact that you needed protecting fueled you; it set aflame to the boiling pit in your stomach and your instincts kicked in. As your eyes locked onto your abandoned weapon, you jumped to your feet and lunged for it, skidding on your knees.

Nines watched the scene play out before him as if you were some bad-ass secret agent, and his biocomponents clenched - his LED went haywire. He was stunned in place, but he had dropped down into a crouching position once you had lunged for your gun. The bullets were still firing away, and he was lucky to miss a few; he was sure that there were some wounds he hadn’t had the energy to focus on since his attention was glued to you. That was his mission: To keep you safe - he couldn’t fail it.

And there you were dodging bullets, dodging your death sentence. How, he had no idea, but you did it well - and he had to remind himself to never doubt you. Not that he ever had.

You don’t know how you missed it. How you couldn’t catch it in time - how you were unable to realize it sooner.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as you slowly ascended forward. Time was forever frozen as soon as you heard the soft tick of something being pulled off and then a loud clink as an object appeared five feet in front of you. You squinted to get a better look and before you could yell out ‘grenade’, it went off and once again, a body was hurled into you and you flung sideways behind another row of pews. Your back collided - once more - onto something sharp and you cried out abruptly, eyes screwing shut just as the sound of the blast caused your ears to bleed and ring brutally.

You landed on your back, so you weren’t unaware of your surroundings. But you were a little shocked to see Nines practically sheltering your frame from any signs of danger. He had his entire body draped over you, and for a second you wren’t concerned about how his weight felt on top of yours - you were more concerned about how open he was about protecting you. Yeah, it was foolish of you to think like that; he was the one who was ordered to protect you and you were his mission, but there was that fleeting feeling deep inside your gut that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The sounds of wood splintering and landing on hardwood floor was distant in your hearing, but you could see all of the debris from where you lay. And when he finally looked down at you despite the awkward position you were currently in, you felt your cheeks heat up and your breath hitched. You watched him curiously, eyes roaming his face - picking out the flaws but finding none, and feeling your heart drop when you noticed the almost distinctive freckles on his face and neck.

“[Y/N],” his voice came out shaky yet worried as he searched you with growing eyes, “You aren’t breathing. You  _need_  to breathe.”

_God, he was beautiful._

The billowing puffs of debris cleared soon after, and you weren’t able to focus on the SWAT teams arrival - or the sound of the ambulance from outside of the warehouse.

His words had some sort of control over your body because soon you felt yourself subconsciously letting out a breath. “You said my name.”

He cocked his head to the side, “I’m sorry?”

“My name. You said my name - that was the first time you called me by my actual name.”

You smiled at him. And it had been the first time you smiled at him; the first time he’d been this close to you, the first time he was able to feel at peace because he had saved you, and the job was done - the Red Ice leader was caught and they’d be able to take him in. But he never actually felt peace before and it was… indescribable. He felt his software malfunction when you looked up at him with those bright and big doe eyes, expressively showing your shock and the bits of content. He could hear it in your voice.  

Mission:  _Successful_.

He stayed quiet, not knowing how to react to your words.

“Thank you.”

And by Ra9 he felt himself in the process of shutting down at the sincerity of your voice, or how you looked at him with eternal gratitude. He smiled confusedly down at you for a moment and before you could take another step, he stopped you - LED swirling an angry red, and you didn’t know why he looked so angry until you saw where his eyes had drifted to. He was looking at your back, or at least somewhere near the area.

“Turn around,” he ordered, tone hesitant. You did as you were told, and turned around. His hands were curled at the hem of your vest and shirt as he lifted slowly causing you to tense. You cold feel the worry seeping out from his voice - you didn’t like the sound of it. You winced as the fabric from your shirt caught onto something rough and irritated lodged into your skin. Wounds. Nines cursed lowly, his voice grating as he inspected your back.

“How does it look?” You asked, prompting from a truthful answer.

He didn’t know what to think because he was just too angry. Angry with himself for being reckless and not keeping you safe, angry when he so carelessly hurled himself into you right as the grenade went off. Your once smooth skin was now jagged and scarred; you’d have to live with these scars for the rest of your life.

He knew what this was. This was guilt.

Suddenly he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It felt as though his circuits were shortening and running on overdrive. He knew even on a semi-subconscious level that it would hurt you, he couldn’t bare to be the one who brought you pain.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” his voice cracked, chin quivered, eyes glazing over at the realization. He could feel a whole lot of emotions - he was overwhelmed.

“For what?” Brows bumping together, you turned around to face him, mouth dropping when you caught a tear slide down his cheek. You sidestepped just as the paramedics rushed past you among other officers and SWAT members of the team. Tilting your head, you stuck out your bottom lip. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Silence.

“You saved me, Nine,” you stepped forward and reached for his hands. Grasping them in your own, you chanced a peek at how your intertwined hands looked and smiled softly before looking back up at him. He was looking down at your hands, LED spinning yellow.  _Confusion_. He was confused. “You did it so selflessly, and you didn’t hesitate. I know you did all that you could.”

“But the scars -”

“- will  _heal_  with time,” you reassured calmly. The feel of his synthetic skin molding with your very human skin made your heart do backflips. “Plus, even if you hadn’t of done it -”

“ _I’ll do it for you. I’ll anything for you._ ” It came out desperate; his voice was small and vulnerable now, and it was all becoming clearer to you.

“Nine?” His eyes snapped up to meet yours after falling away from yours in shame. “How long have you… um - how long -”

“- have I felt like I couldn’t bare the thought of living without you?” He finished quickly, eyes scanning yours with frailty.

_Well then._

You nodded your head, eyes wide, feeling winded by his confession. “Uh, yeah - yeah…  _that_.”

He stepped closer to you, barricading you in his embrace as he slowly lifted his arms to encircle them around you. Your breathing slowed at his close proximity, but you didn’t waver. “Everything came rushing to me when I turned deviant.” He concluded with a small smile of his own, barely contrasting to the one you bore.

You gawped at him as if he’d just grown an extra head, “You -  _what_?”

“Deviant. You didn’t know?” You shook your head, and he sighed, leaning his forehead to yours. “Well, I guess now you do.”

“I guess I do.” You smiled again and he wanted to capture that moment forever. He’d save that smile into his memory and replay it over and over again for as long as he remained.

But that wasn’t how this worked.

That wasn’t how it all ended. There was no happy ending.

But life wasn’t as kind and pure as your smile was, and it snatched the life out of you like snuffing the flame from a candle. He watched hopelessly as the image of your smile disappeared and set into a deep frown, he watched as the light from your eyes died out slowly as if your soul was breaking from its safe haven. He heard the sound of sirens growing louder, clouding his attention, breaking down his walls.

You were no longer standing before him, no longer in the safety of his embrace, and there wasn’t just a few scars. He watched in suppressed grief as you were wheeled away in a gurney, your blood stained hand slipping from out behind the sheet and he felt utterly sick. He looked down at his hands, artificial tears leaking from his eyes as your blood covered his skin, reminding him that you weren’t alive - he didn’t get to save you.

He wasn’t even close. The grenade had got to you before he could.

He was too late.

You were gone and you weren’t coming back.

And when you took your last breath, it truly felt like eternity of heartbreak.

He flinched when bold red letters flickered across his optical lens: Mission  _failed_. 


	9. Lethal Intent | Machine!Connor RK800

“I hate you! Oh, I  _hate_  you, you self-sacrificing  _coward_!” 

There was a mixture of overwhelming despair and fury, tears cascading down your cheeks as you pounded your fists into his chest. He didn’t even flinch, but you cringed with every jab you aimed at him; your heart broke with every hiss you spewed his way. You were able to taste the saltiness of your tears on your quivering lips as you mumbled incoherently, screaming in between them.  

You sent a jab to his chest one last time, the force enough to have him stumble. He quickly regained his footing, eyes never leaving yours and no matter how hard you cried, pleaded – begged – he never made any inclination that he was affected. Which hurt than anything else in the whole world – it hurt more than any knife wound puncturing any major artery.  

“Say something!” Sobs wracked through you with heavy force, and you felt like gagging from how hard you were crying.  

Hard-set, deep brown eyes pierced right through you – and there was a time where that look sent the embers in your blood  _aflame_  with raw emotion, but now all you could see was a brutal desire to see you crumble beneath the weight of his ignorance. What he didn’t know was that you were already breaking into tiny pieces; demoralized, weakened.  

If he didn’t care enough to stay alive, then you didn’t have anything else to prove.  

You didn’t have anything else to  _live_  for.  

“So, that’s it?” You croaked, defeated. “You got nothing left to say to me? Nothing else matters now, huh? Just your stupid mission.”  

He remained quiet, watching you with predatorial eyes while his LED circled yellow. He took in your unkempt hair, wild eyes, and blotchy cheeks – he had been the cause of that, but he just couldn’t find it in him to fight for your happiness. He never had, so why were you so upset about this? CyberLife had created him for one purpose and one only, and it wasn’t to be this fantasy you wanted so badly – he was a machine. He wasn’t made to love, to be have emotions - to love you.  

“I’m a machine, designed to accomplish a task, that’s all.” He scolded, feeling his biocomponents tightened when he witnessed the slight tremble of your chin right before pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wasn’t designed to love you, [Y/N].”  

You screwed your eyes shut, cringing once more and swallowed around the lump in your throat. Your heart broke with raw heartbreak, something you’d never felt before. This was something intense. It felt as though needles pricked and prodded at your skin, your heart, your very soul.  

“I won’t ever love you,” his voice cut right through your very being. “I could never love you. Do you hear me? You’re  _nothing_ to me.”  

It was as if he was tempting you – begging for you to keep pushing, daring to tear him apart, but you didn’t have the strength to. You were too weakened to fight anymore. You couldn’t continue.  

When you opened your eyes, all he managed to see was the liveliness being sucked out completely without remorse. You were slowly becoming the thing you feared deep down.  

Inhuman. Nothing but a primal instinct to so recklessly discourage the meaning of life and become the void itself. The black abyss of which was the entity that now harbored inside of your body – or the vessel since you were just that.  

“Okay, Connor.”  

His brows furrowed at the monotone in your voice, the absolute emptiness you portrayed. The tears had dried so effortlessly on your cheeks that it looked as if you hadn’t even been crying in the first place.  

He tilted his head and you smiled, you smiled so hollowly and for a minute he wondered what would happen next.  

But it was as if something inside of you snapped and you lunged for him, tackling him right to the ground. His skull collided against the pavement and all he could see was the night sky above him, but that was only for a split second before he felt your hand wrap around his. He reached for it, but your thighs were well sheltered over his hands and arms. You had him trapped.  

“Okay, Connor.” You said it again, but this time he felt every biocomponent in his body squeeze as a lone tear slid down your cheek. There it was; the ultimate breach behind those walls you tried to keep up.  

He struggled against you, but your knees only pressed further into him.  

You whimpered and before he could process what happened he saw you raise your hand up. It wasn’t empty.  

His gun. You were holding his gun.  

When had you even had the chance to take that from him?  

“What are you doing?” He shouted, eyes widening at you pressed the barrel of the gun to the bottom of your jaw. He struggled against you some more, but you dug your knees harshly into his arms, snarling as you did so but failing to hide the utter heartbreak in your eyes.  

“I’m finishing your mission,” you whispered, cocking the gun. “I was your mission all along, right?” He went quiet, you cried softly. “I was your mission from the beginning.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous. Put the gun down.” He reasoned as he wiggled his hands discretely from underneath your knees. His optical lens blurred slightly; he realized his was… crying? How was he crying?  

“It’s too late now,” you pressed it deeper into your skin and you screwed your eyes shut. “I already gave up.”  

He opened his mouth and you pulled the trigger.  


	10. Music in You | Kara AX400

“Let’s dance.”  

Kara looked up and her eyes found yours which were alight with elation – a type of happiness she’d never seen until now. It was a good look on you, she’d have to admit. And the way you wiggled your fingers in front of her expectantly with that childish quirk of your lips made her biocomponents clench in a tender way.  

She looked around your waiting figure and over to the dance floor where she saw both Luther and Alice, North and Markus, Connor and Hank dancing to a tune that barely had begun. Looking back up at you then down at your hand where she could see the wedding band she’d slipped onto your fingers merely an hour ago, she anticipated for a minute.  

“I don’t know how to dance.”  

The words had slipped so delicately past her lips that you could hardly hear them. Your hand wavered slightly, but the smile never left. “I’ll teach you,” you promised, eyes lighting up the more you stood. “C’mon, this is my favorite song, and I want my wife to dance with me.”  

She had to sigh at that; your typical human enthusiasm was hard to keep up with sometimes. But she loved it all the same.  

She loved you. And even if she said it before, she loved how you looked in that white, flowy dress that hugged your curves in all the right ways.

That’s why she married you – that’s why she was the one to propose in the most ludicrous way possible. Albeit, she did go to Hank for advice on how to do it, and it might have not been the wisest to do that. She loved Hank, she really did – but his idea of a proposal was… it was comical in a way. And overall, it was cliché. The cliché of clichés. Kara had planned it all out; she took you to a beautiful park in Canada (your hometown) and set up a picnic day. She even brought a basket full of food. When you arrived in that godforsaken, alluring flowery sundress, she would’ve shutdown then and there. Your raw beauty had brought her intense reactions – and you were stuck with trying to get her attention when you walked over to her with that knee-weakening grin, waving your hand in front of her face.  

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” you whispered fondly, brushing your fingertips under her chin. She noticed you were knelt in front of her now, and she wondered if she spaced out again – which wasn’t unlikely. “I won’t let you fall.”  

Kara’s artificial heart pumped with trepidation, but she trusted you –  _oh_  she trusted you more than anything.  

“Alright,” she tittered shyly, feeling a blue tint consume her cheeks as she slipped her fingers through yours. You only fawned over the fact that she was flustered by your request but pulled her out to the dance floor with an excited bounce to your step.  

You were already swaying your hips to the upbeat melody that played through the speakers, and you helped her move to the beat the best way you knew how. And when you wanted to teach her how to move her hips, you grounded her with your palms pressed into the fabric of her dress, pawing at her synthetic flesh greedily, not bothered by the multiple pairs of eyes locked on you.  

Connor and Hank had stopped to look at the two of you, grinning foolishly along with a very giddy Alice and her guardian Luther. Simon, North, and Markus all stared with awe at the sight.  

But your focus was on your beloved.  

The way she watched you with hesitance, yet the slow upturn of her lips as she got used to the shifts of your limbs, or how your hands felt nice pressed into her hips like that.  

Your giggles tugged on her biocomponents, and she instinctively brought you into her arms. You moved in sync with the other; your hands holding her hips, her hands over your shoulders, fingers interlocked over the back of your neck. 

“I love you.”

And no matter how many times she heard those words spill past your lips, she could never get enough.  

Nothing else mattered in this moment – everything else faded to black and white, while your eyes and smile gleamed with color.  

And when you kissed her – she swore she’d never leave your side.  

“I love you too.”  


	11. You Are Human | Connor RK800

a·live

əˈlīv/

adjective

1\. (of a person, animal, or plant) living, not dead.

2\. continuing in existence or use.

Connor knew that word all too well – he had branded it into his mind as a reminder of how you made him feel when he was with you. It wasn’t that he forgot; the pleasant sensations you made him go through were nothing he’d ever want to forget. You just simply brought enough light to his life that it wasn’t barely possible to stay away from you without having the need – a desperation – to keep by your side.  

You had initially become his literal lifeforce.  

Your face, your laugh, your aura – you were the center of his gravity.  

He knew what this feeling was, he spoke to Hank about it quite often – to the point where Hank was growing annoyed with how badly he asked him. It became frequent too. There were days where Connor was caught staring at you from across the room by none other than his own partner – your father.  

Although, you were quite the sneaky woman – so of course you caught him staring. And it always brought a smile to your face despite the overwhelming stress that weighed you down day-by-day.  

Thus, led the android to your front porch. His LED was circling yellow as he stood there, his fist raised almost touching the chipped paint of your front door. Silence had followed soon after his soft knocks; he began to worry when you – still – hadn’t showed up to let him inside. You always opened the door before he could reach for the second knock, that’s just how it’d been with the two of you. You  _always_  answered the door.  

So, why hadn’t you answered now? Where were you?  

His thoughts swirled with various scenarios; were you hurt? Kidnapped, possibly – or dare he think it – killed? No, he shook his head and lowered his hand down to wrap around your door knob. Slowly, he turned it and when it opened he would’ve let out a sigh if he could.  

Your comfy adobe was… oddly quiet. Serene – yet still undeniably quiet. It was usually never this quiet unless you were sleeping. But Connor knew better – you didn’t take daytime naps, you just didn’t have the time to waste on napping; your words not his.  

“[Y/N]?” His voice came out small and childlike as if he were afraid that his thoughts about you being harmed would be true.  

He received silence, LED flashing between an angry red and yellow; back and forth, back and forth. He did a quick scan of your heartbeat (which he should’ve done firsthand before thinking the worst) and his wild brown eyes darted from one side of your house to the other side.  

A faint heartbeat caused his movements to freeze suddenly, and he jerked his head towards the source. It was calming and steady, and since he knew the patterns of your heartbeat, he knew it was you.  

His feet carried him anxiously to your bedroom and he peaked through the cracked door, eyes crinkling at the sight of your form hunched over across your desk with your cheek pressed into the crease of your math book. Drool was slipping out from the corners of your mouth and he couldn’t help but admire you even more – especially in this light. It was like seeing you for the first time all over again.  

He was just as lovesick for you as he was when he first laid eyes on you.  

The door croaked obnoxiously as he accidentally put his weight on it, and your eyes snapped open, cheeks ripping from the book sheet in a rush. Wild eyes took in your surroundings and before you could process that there was a figure standing in your doorway, a massive migraine thudded at the base of your skull.  

You groaned as your eyes screwed shut, hating the harshness of the lights beaming down on you. “ _Ouch_.”  

Connor rushed over to your aid, his sensors telling him that you were in pain. He was already trying to find out what it was that was causing you such pain as he knelt at your side with his hands hovering over your cheeks.  

Your eyes flung open and you met a pair of brown wild ones, concerned and frantic. “Oh, Connor – hey.” A small unnoticeable smile turned your lips upwards as you shifted in your spot, still very much yearning for sleep, disorientated and in  _pain_.  

“I detected that you were in pain,” he whispered, finally setting his hands on your knees. “Are you alright?”  

“Just peachy,” you drawled out, lethargic mumbles on your tongue as you rubbed the sleep – and pain – from your eyes. “I have a migraine, it’s nothing to worry about.”  

Your movements were sluggish and weak no matter how hard you tried to make yourself move faster, but the exhaustion and stress was weighing you down so bad that you could barely keep your eyes open now.  

A pout formed on his lips as he watched your focus drift back over to the book, before quickly wiping at the dried drool on your mouth with a red tint in your cheeks. And then his eyes found your hand as it picked up your pencil. His thirium pump stuttered at the sight of the small, red and irritated bumps that littered your hand.  

“Hey, what’s this?”

Before you could protest and move your hand out of sight, he grabbed at it tenderly, laying your hand in the palm of his larger one. His index finger and thumb traced over the multiple irritated bumps with a tender touch, tender enough to make you shiver from delight.  

Has he always been this warm? You wondered.  

You shrugged half-mindedly but couldn’t help the jump of your heartrate at his barefaced perturbed expression. Instead of wanting to worry him even further you pulled your hand away and stuffed it between your thighs and avoided his stare. “Stress hives, I guess.”  

Immediately, he searched the meaning of it – not having the slightest clue of what it meant. Google told him that they were red, irritated and itchy welts that were caused by heat or stress. His brows furrowed and when he looked back over at you, your focus was back on your homework. He knew that when you told him about your upcoming exams for college that you were going to be busy, but you never told him how stressful it would be. That alone made him upset. You always talked to him – about anything, really. And when he said everything, he truly meant  _everything_. Because you did, your relationship was that of two high schoolers who were madly in love; even if he was still learning the meaning of that –  _love_. He looked it up many times before and all the symptoms he was experiencing were that of the ones he felt, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he was in love with you.  

“Stress… hives?”  

The softness of his voice pulled you from the italicized text of your Statistics book. You looked over at him and noticed the small pout he bore so painstakingly adorable. Your features immediately softened at his expression and you lowered your pencil into the crook of your book. “Hey,” you whispered, capturing his attention as he focused on you – reading you, analyzing you,  _learning you_. “It’s nothing to worry about, bub. Stress hives are a normal human aspect. We get stressed over the little things and consequences happen because of it.”  

Consequences such as loss of sleep hours, pulling out your hair out of frustration, stress hives – it was all inevitable.  

Determination set deep into his eyes and face, and he scooted closer to you. “Do you need me to help you with anything?” You laughed, and he continued, “I can do anything you need me to do… would you like a massage? Some water or a snack? I can tutor you – if you’d like.”  

You shifted in your spot, awkwardly crossing your leg over the other. “You would do that? For me?”  

“Of course, I would.” He nodded, grabbing your hand and slowly trailing his thumb over your knuckles. “I love you. I’d do anything for you.” Plus, he knew you needed the rest. Maybe if he tutored you, you’d be able to sleep much more and not worry or stress so much.  

You beamed down at him, eyes twinkling with ardor. “I’m so lucky to have you.”  

“And I, you.” He replied immediately, loving the passion in your tone as you held him captive with that endearing expression.  

You leaned forward, kissing him before he was able to react, and his eyes closed as he blindly followed you, needing to taste you once more. He opened his eyes and found your eyes lit with confidence and excitement.  

His artificial heart was beating for a whole new purpose now:  _you_.  

“So, how about that study date?”  


	12. Innocent Hunger | Connor RK800

“Hold still.” 

…

“I said  _hold still_ , dammit.” 

His hands gripped the back of your thighs, wincing as you dabbed lightly at the cuts that littered around his symmetrical shaped face.  

You tried to ignore the way his dark brown eyes followed your every move, flickering down to watch as your tongue swiped across your lower lip in concentration. It was hard enough as is to fully focus as you were standing between his thighs while his surprisingly warm hands touched your skin. Whenever the cloth skimmed across the more sensitive parts of his synthetic skin, he would make the slightest movements and you would hold in a breath — not wanting to hurt him further. 

Hurt. Pain — he felt  _pain_  now that he was deviant. He felt absolutely every little scrape and brush across his skin. You wondered how it felt to be touched, to actually know how skin felt when molding with his own. Was it electrifying for him as it was for you? Did he also feel that  _phenomenal_  rush of raw desire coarse through his veins when you stood next to him because you  _did_. When it came to Connor, you always had those brilliant constellations in your eyes — and they only shined for him. 

“Sorry.” The words on his lips were anything but choleric; nothing but unabashed veracity pouring from his tongue. 

“It’s… fine.” You muttered in an ill-defined, trembling voice. 

With his hands almost clawing at your thighs, you could feel your cheeks heat up before you could stop them. The warmth from his fingertips pressing into your skin with a desperate push to them made your heart take off at a dead-run. Did he know what he was doing to you? 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” You dabbed lightly at a part underneath his cheekbone, eyes involuntarily darting over to his lips before looking back at him. 

He looked at you, although face still stationary and placid. His brown eyes stared at you intensely, searching — maybe  _analyzing_  you; he still had a tendency to do that in the most inept times. 

“Do what?” His voice was low and docile as he stared at you with an absent-minded expression. His pupils seemed to have dilated… and you wondered if that was another perk to becoming deviant — he was able to express his emotions without having complete control over them. 

“Take down the assailant when I  _clearly_  had him on the ropes. You know, if you would’ve waited a second I’d have him on his ass.”  

He smiled at that. That cheeky, dorkish grin that he hadn’t developed until after turning deviant. He hadn’t acquired a lot up until this very moment where you swore his eyes held nothing but unadulterated affection for you. Did he know he was looking at you like that? The freckles that lined his face and neck weren’t doing anything to slow your rapid heartbeat down. 

You slowly lowered your hand, eyes lingering on his cuts and doing possibly anything to avoid his eyes. There was a noticeable red tint to your cheeks, and Connor  _wasn’t_  foolish — he  _knew_  you were flustered. 

“I would gladly endure the aftermath then watch you hurt in any way, shape or form. I did what I had to do to keep you safe.” He said, voice oddly sympathetic as he shifted on the counter. 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why would you rather it be you? I don’t…” you breathed in and then out, finding his proximity incredibly distracting. “I don’t understand why you would save me — go out of your way to help me or —” 

“Is it so hard to believe that I might have grown attached to you, [Y/N]?” 

The downward tilt of his lips caused a pang to hit your chest, and you sucked in another breath. You had upset him because you were doubting the utter allegiance he suffered from needing to protect you. It was a desperate hunger to keep you healthy and alive even though you’d done nothing to prove to him of that same appreciation. 

Why hadn’t you? 

Your eyes flickered over to his face, and then down to his lips, and then back up to his face. “I…” 

“What?” He whispered tenderly, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. You instantly leaned into his touch, loving how his sunshine evaded you, consumed you whole. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered magically at the nickname. 

You felt  _heavenward_. 

It was nothing like you imagined and it was something so rudimentary as a single touch to your cheek. 

His touch was what pushed you to stand on your tiptoes, to take that extra step in leaning in to brush your lips over his, peaking at him quickly to see how his eyes were already closed — patient and waiting to feel your lips on his. 

When your lips connected to his, you felt the whole world spin. He pulled you into him, and you touched the back of his head to angle him perfectly so you could capture more of the kiss — you were touched starved, admittedly so. You wanted to forge your body into his, to feel every inch of him engulf you in a way that seemed all too surreal. 

That’s what this felt like; it all felt like you were dreaming, like this couldn’t possibly be true. 

You gasped into the kiss, feeling your skin tingle when he slid his hands up and down your bare arms. A guttural and attractive husky sound crawled up his lips and he cupped your chin with his free hand while supporting you with his other. 

Your tugged on his collar when his tongue wrestled with yours, sending your blood aflame and desire to erupt in the pit of your stomach. Every single one of your senses were harmonized with his presence, his heat, his lips taking dominance over your swollen ones. 

But you knew now wasn’t the time to get side-tracked. 

You had an old soul — you preferred the dates that led up to the hot, steamy sex. 

“Wait,” you pulled away, and watched with a smitten expression as he blindly followed your lips while his eyes were slowly opening at the intrusion of your absence. You laughed softly as his eyes opened to reveal two sets of earthly brown eyes. “Let’s take this slow.” 

He nodded instantly as if his will was bending to please you, and reached for your hand. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Good.” You smiled, and pecked his lips once before going back to cleaning his wounds. 

If this was what it took to get you to kiss him then maybe he should save you more often. 

Although, he planned to do that anyways.


	13. Wounded Warrior | Markus RK200

The scars on your body were a reminder that you were no stranger to life’s horrors. Although they told a story — you weren’t too keen on reliving it. 

A certain mismatched eyed android had other plans. 

Markus knew you hadn’t been feeling yourself lately, and he found himself thinking about you too much — too much that it actually started to worry himself. Whenever you walked into the room, even if he was in the middle of a conversation with North or Simon, his eyes would naturally flit over to your presence. He knew the pattern of your heartbeat, it wasn’t hard to memorize, and he also knew the smell of your knee-weakening scent. You had become the center of his attention — of his labyrinth. 

He watched as you sluggishly walked over to stand between Connor and a barrel of roaring flames, and then you crossed your arms over your chest as if you were meaning to hide something. 

You exchanged a silent tender moment with Connor, and then receded to staring aimlessly at the fire before you. Your brows bumped together in a deep concentration, and you bit on your bottom lip. 

Human tendencies were a rarity to him, but he was getting used to picking them out, and analyzing them — especially you. 

Now, you weren’t an open person despite being the daughter of Carl, who was the exact opposite; open and determined to brighten someone’s day. No. You weren’t like that at all. And he only knew that because he knew you even  _better_. 

His biocomponents clenched painfully, his thirium pump escalating at the overbearing emotions you were fighting to keep at bay. 

“Earth to Robo-cop,” North’s facetious tone pulled him from his desperate thoughts about you. She held her tongue to her cheek in that smug way he found irritating at times. “You’ve been ogling at her for the past five minutes.” 

Markus felt heat rising to his cheeks and he cleared his throat, glancing at you once more in worry before turning to face his partner in crime. 

“I wasn’t ogling.” He defended. 

North raised a brow, her arms clasped behind her back as she rolled on the balls of her black combat boots. 

“I was… gazing.” 

“Uh-huh.” The corner’s of her lips curved upwards, eyes shining with vainglory. Her eyes darted over to you to see what about you caught his attention, and at the byzantine expression on your face, hers fell. “You should go talk to her. I detected a few bruised bones — it must’ve been the CyberLife agents.” 

Markus’ eyes snapped over to you at his partner’s words, and he felt his synthetic skin crawl at the thought of you in any type of pain. It was second nature to care for you, and to keep you safe. Sadly, he was only able to do one. 

His feet moved on their own accord, and before he could process anything, he was standing beside you. With his hands hesitantly out in front of him, his fingers flexing since he had no idea where to set them, he scanned you himself. Eyes wide and filled with great concern, he found multiple lacerations that you were trying — and failing — to keep hidden, and he also detected your cracked ribs. You were wincing every time you so much as shifted on your feet. 

Connor’s eyes shot over to Markus when he approached merely a few seconds ago, and he couldn’t help but feel unwanted. He was in the middle of uncharted territory; he knew you were Markus’ — not that you belonged to him, but he knew you weren’t alone. He knew that you and Markus were two halves of a whole and that you’d both lay out your lives to protect each other. 

What the two of you had was unfathomable, unimaginable, and no one could take that away from you. 

When Markus’ eyes found the newly turned deviant’s, they both nodded understandingly at each other before Connor fled the vicinity. 

It was silent. 

You were still staring distantly at the fire, and he noticed how the flames reflected in your irises. It was breathtaking.  _Everything_  about you was. 

“I really don’t want to hear how reckless and — and stupid I was tonight, Markus.” 

The depletion in your voice made his thirium pump stutter. As he took in your crestfallen expression with trepidation, he felt his circuits go haywire, needing you to understand that he was only worried. 

“I’m not unhappy with what you did, [Y/N]. If anything I’m more… worried that you didn’t ask for my help.” He assured, eyes softening as a lone tear slid down your cheek before you quickly swiped it gone with shaky fingers. 

“You aren’t upset with me?” Your guarded expression changed, eyes revealing all that your words could not. He shook his head, bottom lips stuck out in a slight pout. Your heart skyrocketed. “But I thought…” 

“I’m  _always_  going to worry about you, but what you did was heroic. You saved a lot of people. I’m actually very proud of you.” The light twitch of your lips prompted him to continue. “You’re the bravest person I know.” 

“You mean that?” You sniffled and shuffled closer to him, arms slowly falling to rest at your sides. 

“Every word.” He nodded, but tensed when you sucked in a breath, movements dilute and raw. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You know I can scan you and find any injuries within seconds right?”

“Then why’d you ask?” You joshed, eyes twinkling with barely-there amusement save for the visible pain that contrasted to your actual benevolence. 

“Can I…?” His hands reached over, hovering over the hem of your jacket. You hesitated before removing your arms from your middle, eyes diverting elsewhere. 

Markus slowly lifted your shirt and faltered when his eyes landed on the unpleasant cuts that lingered over your skin. Some were fresh and some were old; it still  _irked_  him, and if it were possible his worry heightened. 

He opened his mouth to reply, but you stepped back and lowered your shirt defensively. Your eyes were still avoiding his; you refused to make eye-contact. You were already self-conscious enough. 

“I have scars all over my body,” you muttered, bottom lip trembling. “They aren’t nice to look at either.”

If he still had his LED, he was sure it’d be blinking a fierce red by this point. 

“You’re a survivor, [Y/N],” he stepped closer to you, enveloping you into his arms, mindful of your injuries. “It’s written all over your body.”

Your heart faltered at his words, but you made no inclination to accept his embrace. Not yet. You were still hesitant, broken, shattered. 

“You don’t have to hide yourself from me.” 

You peeked up from where your face was pressed softly into his chest, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the close proximity. He didn’t seem to notice because he was too busy focusing on the soft rhythm of your heartbeat. It was his lullaby. 

“Please, don’t hide yourself from me.” His words were pleading,  _suffocating_. 

There was no way to resist this new instinct. You had to give into it. Into him. It was all you had left. You were already half way there. 

“Okay, Markus.” You smiled affectionately at him, slowly leaning up on your tiptoes to level yourself with him. His brows furrowed at your movements, and before he could question it, your lips were already brushing against his. 

He could’ve swore he felt himself begin to shutdown at the feel of your lips, so soft and so unforgiving against his own. 

You breathed him in, lips molding with his, hands roaming and grabbing at the back of his neck. He had a scent — you didn’t think Markus could have a scent, but he did. 

And you were already falling into his trap, and you were aware. You didn’t mind. 

This would be one  _helluva_  fall. 


	14. Wilting Petals | RK900

“You’re staring again.” 

You turn to the sound of the voice, eyes wide as if you were caught off-guard. Placing a hand to your chest, you breathed out when your eyes found those of your partners. He was staring at you with that knowing look — a look you didn’t think an android could have, but when you partner looked at you that way it had the effect of you shifting in your spot. You bored that expression of a child who had been caught stealing cookies from a cookie jar. 

“I was… spacing out.” You lied, biting on your thumb nail. It was a nervous tick of yours, and Connor knew that; it was obvious by the way he tilted his head or the way his lips quirked up into that almost halfway triumphant smirk.

“If by spacing out you mean “ _gazing longingly_ ” then okay.” His eyes crinkled, smile beaming as he realized he caught you red-handed.

“Shut up.” Heat rose to your cheeks, but you still couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over to the source of your attention, the center of your gravity. Your mind was filled to the brim with flashes of his awkward smile, the way he approached you with hesitant penchant. 

The RK900 prototype was standing next to his partner — Gavin Reed — in the sanctuary of your boss’ office. Fowler looked to be giving the two a piece of his mind with his palms flat against his desk and his body rigid as if he just got done screaming his lungs out. But you could care less on that because your eyes were glued onto the all too stoic — yet extremely alluring — android. 

From your side, you heard a loud and exaggerated chuckle. You knew it was Connor only trying put emphasis on his discovery of your latest obsession, but you were too busy focusing on how Nines’ fingers were flexing behind his back, face impassive yet professional and it was all so overwhelming to you. Your heart was forgetting to beat properly. 

And this was all because of  _him_. 

It was  _very_  concerning. 

You didn’t want to place blame, especially not on Nines’, but he had become the main concern for you nowadays. Every time you walked into the precinct, every time you passed by his desk — whether or not he was there — his presence seemed to follow you everywhere. 

And the funny thing was that he even had a lingering scent.   
You didn’t think he would have a natural smell, but you were glad he did — he smelt nice. It was intoxicating. 

“[Y/N]? Are you listening?” 

“Hm?” You jolted in your spot, lifting your chin from the palm of your hand. Your eyes flew over to your partner. He was standing now, that whimsical glint lingering in his eyes. You became flustered. “I’m sorry. W-What were you saying?” 

“I was saying…” 

But once again, your focus was pulled to where the light paddle of footsteps could be heard and almost immediately your eyes found those of icy gray ones. You held your breath, and as he walked past you. His eyes — so full of intensity — were locked on you, even as he arrived at his desk with his partner. 

You had that dreamy look in your eyes, and you could feel yourself turning into a puddle of goo. There was this desperation deep inside you, willing you stay grounded and it was like there was no control; you didn’t think it would feel like suffocation. You craved him in the most unorthodox way, constantly, wholeheartedly. It was like you were trying to fight a battle in your mind, trying to force yourself to look away, but the other half of you felt like he was this beacon of light, this godly being that had the power to keep you steeled. 

You couldn’t  _understand_. 

Suddenly, you felt sick to your stomach and you looked away, only for the putrid feeling to intensify and spread to your chest. A fire set aflame in your lungs and you gulped, finding it difficult to overlook the dull thud. 

“I’m… I’m gonna — I’ll be right back.” 

Your partner watched with concern as you practically jumped up from your seat in a hurry. He noticed his precursor’s eyes follow your form with worry filled eyes as well. 

You shouldered open the bathroom door, hand pressed firmly to your mouth to prevent the hacking to ensue. But the sting in your chest had grew which caused you to stumble on your steps. You landed on your knees, hand flying from your mouth so you could palm the tile floor beneath you. You wheezed, chest torrid, throat raw. You could feel a foreign feeling flourishingin your lungs, and the more you tried to ignore it, the hurculean it became and the more evident your pain prevailed. Bloodshot eyes, trembling fingers as you clawed at your neck as you hacked and heaved and gagged. 

Breathing was becoming more difficult and it baffled you; how was something so rudimentary proving to be the most hardestthing? 

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you coughed once more, hand flying to level beneath your chin so whatever you had been choking on would fall into your palm. Eyes wide, lips parted in shock, you looked down at a single petal of a red carnation, covered in your blood. You wanted to retch again, but this time not because of how sick you felt, but because you knew  _exactly_ what it meant.  

“ _No_. Please no.” As your chin trembled, you stared teary-eyed at the petal in your palm, hands visibly shaking. You shook your head and screwed your eyes tight, praying this was just a dream — that this wasn’t  _real_. But you knew it was, and that completely killed you. 

“[Y/N]?” There was a knock, and just as the door to the bathroom creaked open, you closed your hand, nails digging into your palm. 

Feet scurried on the ground, causing a squeak, and before you could process anything, a figure was at your side and on their knees. A gentle hand landed on your shoulder and you looked up to meet those of your partner’s.

“Are you alright?” He helped you up, and you shoved the petal into your pocket before wiping hastily at your bloodied lips. 

“What are you doing in the ladies restroom, Connor?” You said, voice hoarse. You cleared your throat, trying to look away from his worrying gaze. 

“You’re bleeding.” He stated, panic in his voice. His eyes were flickering to every inch of your skin, checking for injuries. Thankfully he didn’t notice anything else. 

“I’m fine.” You assured, eyes finding his. 

“Then why are you crying?” His voice was low, and filled with hesitance. 

“I told you I’m—”

“Dear brother, I hope you aren’t  _bothering_  the poor thing.” 

A new voice caused both of you to tense in your place. You looked over Connor’s shoulder, eyes finding those of icy gray ones. Without really having the strength to prevent yourself from feeling that burst of awe, your chest exploded once more and you sucked in a breath, cringing without having either notice. 

“What are you doing here?” Connor questioned with a guarded expression.

You palmed your chest, stepping out from Connor’s grasp as Nines neared with eerie sophisticated movements. 

“I was… curious as to why our little precious human bolted to the bathroom,” his eyes found yours and you could’ve swore you saw a brief flicker of concern in them before you sucked in a harsh breath with eyes wide. When he delegated you their precious human — knowing he was referring to both him and Connor— something primal ignited in your chest. 

You didn’t protest. Lord knows that you wanted to, you really wanted to, but there was also that nagging feeling that begged you to leave it be. So you did.

You found the courage to look away from him, and walked over to the sink to clean your face and hands, free of the blood that dared to stain them. You scrubbed and scrubbed at them, lips curling and blocking out the voices of the two androids that occupied the restroom space. 

The words they spoke vanished, disappearing into a black hole. 

You were left with your thoughts as they bounced off the walls of your exhausted mind, leaving you to stare blankly down at the blood and water to swirl down the drain. 

A hand appeared above the faucet, then turned the knob slightly until the water cut short. You didn’t react, not even when that same hand reached up and held your chin with his index finger and thumb, tenderly drawing your focus back to him. 

You didn’t register the coldness of his skin, or how his eyes were trained on you; squinted and strained. 

When your name left his lips in that sharp tone, only then did everything fall into place and only then did you feel your entire body bend to his will without question. Everything came to life; the sting of his touch, the way he said your name — despite the rigidness to it — the way his eyes held you captive like he was analyzing you. 

Suddenly, you found it hard to breathe. 

“What are you doing in here?” You freed yourself from his grasp, ignoring the hurt that flashed across his face as your eyes searched the bathroom for any sign of Connor. Your shoulders dropped with defeat when you didn’t find him. But your eyes flitted right back over to Nines, trepidation overcompensating for the fear you actually felt. “Where’s Connor?” 

“I wanted to keep an eye on you, so I requested that we be alone.” 

“Why?” You faltered. 

“Are you really going to leave without saying what you’ve been dying to say?” His voice lowered an octave, and you crossed your arms over your chest in a cowardice manner. 

“What are you talking about?” You bit on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“You have feelings for me, correct? It isn’t hard to analyze the symptoms once they become frequent.” His voice lacked the emotion you so desperately wanted to hear. 

At your hesitance, he stepped closer to you, and this time you didn’t move away. You surrendered yourself to him because that’s  _all_  you ever wanted, you never had the intention of neglecting him. All you wanted was to bare yourself; body and soul. It was his to do whatever with, whether or not he loved you back. 

God, you felt so stupid, standing here with the expression equivalent to a lovesick puppy as he approached you without a lick of emotion in those eyes. It was like a switch had been flicked off — where was the concern you saw only minutes ago? 

“I can’t feel human emotion,” he reminded, and his words were like a punch to the gut. You wanted to hurl. “You know I am incapable of feeling…  _love_.” 

You flinched at the distaste he poured into that single word. 

“I can’t love you, [Y/N].”

…

“I never could.”

“Then leave!” You cried, voice shaky yet penetrating. 

He didn’t even  _flinch_  at your outburst, he simply nodded with a tight-lipped expression and turned away. 

It was in that moment, as you watched his retreating figure that it was time for the surgery. There wasn’t a doubt about it; you were going to cure yourself from this torment. 

Because you’d rather feel nothing at all then the pain he left behind. 


	15. More Than Tequila Ever Would | Captain Allen

“This isn’t a negotiation, Detective.”

“But—”

“Get out of my office.  _Now_.” 

You harrumphed, rolling your eyes in the process. The texture of the files you pressed to your chest were rubbing against you, your hold on them tightened enough for you to get a paper-cut. 

“I just don’t understand why you chose me specifically to take these to him,” you argued, eyes narrowed. “I mean, we don’t get along —  _at all_.” 

“It’s  _Allen_ , no one gets along with him. Now go.”

“Fowler, for the love of—”

“ _Don’t make me ask again_.” The incivility of his tone made your posture tense, but you didn’t argue any further knowing that your boss wasn’t going to budge.

Turning around on your boot-clad feet, you shouldered open the door to his office with a self-infuriating indulgence and stomped your way out, muttering a few choice of cuss words under your breath. Your boss always picked on you when it came to abiding to Allen — the way-too-attractive-for-his-own-good SWAT Captain. Fowler knew that you and said Captain didn’t get along; he was a close watcher, analyzer — the best there was. Every time the two of you were in the same room together there was this intensity, this hunger that was  _too fucking obvious_  to everyone except the two of you. 

You thumbed the elevator button: fourth floor. 

Bubbles of nervous energy displayed within your chest, and your breathing became labored. There was no reason to be nervous, you kept telling yourself, repeating it like a fucking  _mantra_  inside your head. The elevator dinged and your heart dropped realizing that you were almost to his floor — you had to see him. 

Heat suffused your cheeks as you squished between a few of your co-workers; none wearing the face of either of your partners. Connor and Hank were most likely down at Jimmy’s; you had not one doubt in your mind that told you otherwise. 

“What floor?” An android officer asked politely, a monotone frigidness lurking behind a composed grin. 

“Fourth, please.” Your voice came out timid, and you clutched the papers to your chest. 

Once the elevator began it’s ascent, you feared the inevitable awkwardness that would surely ensue once you appeared in his office. You were certain that after your very fortuitous one night stand last week that everything would be fine and dandy, but oh were you wrong. 

You didn’t understand why; that night was one to remember, and he’d been so gentle with you and so caring, it was almost as if you were witnessing a completely different side to him. You liked that side of him. 

But then you had to remind yourself that you were both drunk, very, very drunk. A lot of stupid shit happened when you drank; that night was example number one. 

The elevator dinged once more, stopping simultaneously. You gulped and stepped out, hands growing sweaty as you tightened your arms around the important files. Right. Files. You were just going to give him the files, that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. 

You  _didn’t_  even have to look at him. 

Yeah, that’s what you’d do — you just won’t look at him. 

You willed your legs to move, and breathed out through your nose heavily. This part of the building was buzzing with activity; SWAT members bustling around their work-space, faces smug and some stoic. 

And you were right in the middle of it. 

You stopped, letting your eyes dart from one side of the building to the other. Still, you couldn’t find the familiar face you were in need to catch the attention of. 

“Excuse me?” You tilted your head to the right when an officer brushed past you, hastily and unbothered by your attempt to falter him. You shifted awkwardly on your feet, face hot and movements indolent. Another officer passed by, you attempted once more, “Do you happen to know where Captain Allen’s—” you sighed in defeat when the person didn’t even stop, eyes wandering around the vicinity again in hopes to find at least his name on a door. 

“What does a girl gotta do to get some fucking assistance around here?” You muttered, voice low. 

“Call a guy back, perhaps.” 

Your entire body tensed at the voice that sounded from beside you. Screwing your eyes shut in some sort of fake soul-crushing mental pain, you cursed under your breath. 

“Looking for me, Sweetheart?” 

 _Fuck_ , the gruffness of his voice brought goosebumps to your skin. You felt warm all over when images of his pleased expression from nights ago entered your mind. When you fucked him senseless, sending bursts of ecstasy through him as he gripped your ass in that possessive way that made you unravel all over again. Vivid flashbacks of his back arching under your touch, groans and inappropriate, tainted words spewing from his mouth, sweat covering both his muscle-corded body and your quaking fragile one. 

“Couldn’t find your office.” You said meekly, finally turning around to meet those playful yet sharp deep blue eyes of his. You loved his eyes although amongst other underappreciated qualities about him. His eyes weren’t the only beautiful thing about him; he had a heart of gold that he barely prevailed. 

“Uh,” he gestured his thumb to the door behind him with that same smug grin that got you into his bed in the first place. That, and his ability to lure you there just with a few charming words. 

“ _Right_.” Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment, and you gave a dismissal shake of your head before shifting on your feet. 

It went silent despite the raucous that happened around you. 

“Are those for me?” He used that same hand, and pointed down at the papers you clutched in your arms. 

Confusion engulfed you, his action catching you off-guard. You looked down at what he was pointing to and realization struck you immediately. “Oh, yeah,” you remarked, tone flat. You quickly handed them over to him, avoiding his eyes, neglecting the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his face as it dropped at blatant discomfort. 

You began to shuffle away, but his voice stopped you in your tracks. It was addled, flummoxed. There wasn’t a single speck of authority laced in his voice, and for that you felt guilty. 

 _You_  were the one who didn’t call him back. 

 _You_  were the one who walked into the office after that night distant, avoiding him like the plague. 

“You in a rush to get back or something?” Although you could detect the stern humor in his tone, there was a sliver of wholeheartedly constrained curiosity there, just barely under the surface. 

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, turning back around to face him with remorse clouding your expression. “I’m just really busy.” 

He eyed you with an intense silence, making you feel like a bug under a microscope. You couldn’t get over how youthful he looked underneath the office lights, the way they reflected off his irises making your chest constrict from the aftermath of his raw beauty. His jaw clenched and his eyes softened down at you. 

“Bullshit.” There wasn’t a hint of malignity in his voice. 

Your mouth snapped shut. 

“I have one of the best nights in my life with you, and you avoid me for a week?” His voice wavered. He was hurt. “You could’ve at least called me back.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, not knowing what else to say to him. Because it was true, all you could say was that you were sorry for doing that to him, making him think that you were pleased with what happened. You were, and admittedly, that was also the best night of your life. 

He breathed out harshly, brows bumping together at your reluctance to further explain. You could practically see the veins popping out from his forehead, and his jaw clenched even more if that were possible. 

At your silence, he huffed and turned around, and headed back into his office, throwing the stack of papers at his desk. 

“Wait,” you stepped forward, eyes wide and pleading as he gripped the door knob with his hand. He stopped and turned around, but you didn’t know what to say. You merely acted without a coherent though in your head because you knew you wouldn’t be able to go another week without talking to him. “What…” you hesitated, and breathed in to calm your nerves. “What can I do to make it up to you?” 

He stared at you and you stared back, a hopeful gleam in your eyes. 

You could feel the heavy weight of his dejection swimming in your veins, but before you could take back what you said, he sucked in a breath of air and stormed towards you. 

Confusion swept across your face, and you parted your lips, “Captain Al—”

“Shut up.” And then his lips were on yours before you could process anything. 

To say you felt electricity shoot through you would be a damn understatement. You felt the whole world shake you to the core; gasps of air, lips already swollen from how desperate he was trying to mold you together with him. His hands slipped up to cup your cheeks, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in this world. Your eyes slowly fell closed when he began to move his lips against yours then you touched his wrist, holding him there, grounding him as if you didn’t want him to let go. 

Despite the unadulterated sobriety state you were in, his kiss was enough to intoxicate you ten times more than tequila ever would. 

When he pulled back, and it took you a good minute to fully open your eyes from the daze you were in, the expression on his face was that of a love-smitten fool. And you were sure you had the same dreamy look in your eyes. 

Suddenly, the office erupted into a round of ‘ _ooh’s_ ’ and ‘ _get it, captain!_ ’, and your cheeks were set aflame from the attention. Captain Allen merely grinned down at you smugly, the cheering only boosting his ego and self-esteem. Typical men. You wanted to scoff, but you were too caught up in how blue his eyes looked this close up. 

“Your eyes,” you stated in a bleary voice, loving how warm his hands were as they remained around your cheeks. He stroked your cheek with his thumb, and your heart soared. “They’re  _really_  fucking blue.” 

He laughed loud at that, and it was the most beautiful sound you had the pleasure of hearing. 

“I like that too,” you hummed, smiling wide. “That’s a beautiful sound.”

“You’ll like it even more over a nice dinner,” he mused, eyes twinkling with humor and enamor. He dropped his hands and rubbed at your arms. “Not unless you wanna go back to sulking around your cubical all day.”

“Eat me, Allen.” You bit back with a roll of your eyes. The vulgarity of your voice hadn’t fazed him in the least. Prick. 

“Already did that, sweetheart.” He laughed again, making you gasp at his confession. Your eyes widened and you felt your entire body engulf with heat, spreading to your ears and your neck. He noticed.  _Of course he fucking did_. He always noticed things about you. “Aw, someone’s shy.”

“I like you, jackass. It’s  _that_  simple. Get over it.” 

A round of ‘ooh’s’ caught your attention and you turned to look at the overcrowded office space, finding everyone’s focus on the two of you. 

Embarrassment was a  _nasty_  thing. 

It made people cocky in the wrong moments. 

“Fine,” you turned back to face him, giving him your own smug smirk. “It’s a date, but only if you promise to be my dessert.” 

And you’d never forget the look on his face. 

The fucker  _blushed_. 


	16. Frostbite | Connor RK800

You allowed yourself to breathe as he lifted your hand to his lips, and pressed a delicate kiss to your fingertips. It was like second nature to him – to make sure you got a kiss from him every hour,  _everyday_. His timid grin hid innocently behind your hand, and you shuddered, the feel of his lips on your skin sending you on a sugar high.

“You make me so happy.” The serene blue of his LED told you he meant it. 

His words were emphatic yet–

–you were deaf.

His words were muffled behind your hand, but they were permanently indented into your mind. You would hear those when you slept, when you worked, you would hear them every second of the day. 

But somehow they still weren’t enough. 

You remained on your side of the bed, the silk sheet draped precariously over your middle section while your upper area was divulged. You had everything exposed to him, and maybe in another life you wouldn’t feel so odious about it. 

Your hand lowered from his mouth, and you watched as he interlaced his fingers through yours. He handled you like a fragile object while still astute on the idea that you were meant to be dealt with like you were his  _Queen_. 

You couldn’t help but let your fingers dance along the expanse of his back, the serene air now settling around you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

He tugged you into him, and involuntarily you arched your back. Your nipples were pressed to his bare chest, and the feel of his synthetic skin brushing against your breasts made you gasp. His hand slid from your waist down to the curve of your ass, and he hitched your leg up so that he could hold you more thoroughly. He caressed you there once, and then moved you onto your back, hovering above you. 

You breathed out at the change in momentum as he brought your leg up and hooked it over his shoulder with ease while his other hand curled around yours, pushing it into the mattress. He was on his knees, the sheets now a tangled mess behind him, and you couldn’t get over the sight before you. Despite the surrealism of it all, he looked exactly human and even more so as he clenched his jaw to prevent certainemotions from seeping through. You were sure that if he could breathe, then his chest would be rise and fall greatly do to the fact that he looked like he was about to faint from the overwhelming of nerves. 

With the hand that wasn’t being held down by his, you reached up and cupped his cheek with an equally cold hand. It didn’t matter how many times you did it, but his cheek always fit perfectly in the palm of your hand.

You moaned as he pressed a light kiss to your calve, and the sound was almost foreign to his ears. His head tilted with an unnervingly childlike curiosity, and continued. Your moans were like music to his ears. Everywhere his lips touched left a carnal sensation crawling up your body.

You were covered in sweat already, and it glistened in the pale glow of the room. It felt cold on your skin, but somehow you couldn’t get enough.

-

-

-

You remembered waking up to the bright string lights, hanging down from the ceiling of your room. The bright and various colors illuminated the dark contrast of your room, and a sense of tranquility washed over you, but there was no will to smile.

And you wanted the anguish to swallow you whole. 

Your hand splayed out to your left, meeting nothing but an empty bedside. Turning around to look, you took in the vacancy and let your fingers spread out across the sheet. It was cold. 

_“You don’t belong with him. He’s an android. He could never love you.”_

_-_

_-_

_-_

“I’m sorry, I just can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” Confusion swam deep across his face, eyebrows bumping together and lips parting. It wasn’t as if disbelief filled him to the core, he was actually confused; you had to remember he was still new to human interactions, and emotions. “What do you mean?” 

You were standing on Hank’s front porch with your gloved hands intertwined together to prevent light snowfall from creating frostbite. It wouldn’t matter anyways; you could already feel the coldness slither into your skin, and consuming your heart. There was no way for you to take back all that you said. 

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered, the sound you made causing Connor to take a step towards you in panic. But all you did was take one small step back, eyes becoming swollen from the harsh sting of tears that pooled there. 

“What’s wrong?” There was a hint of a whine in his voice after noticing your dissociation from him. “Why are you sad?” 

“I can’t be with you anymore, Connor.” 

“Why can’t you be with me anymore? Did…” his voice cracked, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No!  _God_ , no.” You had the urge to step forward and hold him, but you forced yourself to stay rooted in your spot. The tears that you were so desperately trying to keep at bay spilled down your cheeks, burning your skin like acid. There wasn’t a point to hold them in anymore – not when all you felt was heartbreak. “I just can’t do it… I just can’t  _be_  with you anymore, okay?”

It was like you could hear the tears falling down his cheeks, or how his chin quaked, his lips quivered. You wished you were immune to the celestial pain that bled from his eyes, his voice –  _that_  was caused by  _you_.

“It’s not you, it’s…  _me_.”

The cold snowy bitter winds brushed across your cheeks and you pulled your beanie down to further shelter your skin. But it didn’t matter how cold you felt, because nothing felt more terrible than the volcanic bursts of secondhand emotional pain you endured in that moment. 

“But I thought we were happy.” Tears clouded his vision, shocking him to the core for he didn’t even think he was capable of producing tears. He felt too much all at once; a mixture between sadness and confusion, anger and desperation – too much was happening inside his mind. 

“I don’t deserve you, Connor.” His eyes widened and he looked as if he were about to protest, but you shook your head. “You deserve someone who’s going to love you and want to be with you no matter how many times someone torments them because they just aren’t supposed to be with you.” 

_****^^ 43%**  //LEVEL OF STRESS//** _

The LED on his temple whirred a frantic, angry red, and he took a tentative, wobbly step forward, but before he could get a word in, you raised your hand to stop him. “Please,” you sucked in a harsh breath of air. “Just let me do this, Connor. I  _need_ to do this.” 

It was going to be painful – letting him go, but you’d rather let Connor be happy alone then with someone who wasn’t. The pressures of societies expectations of androids and humans pressed heavily upon you, and you couldn’t handle social negligence. It was too much; you were only human – you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You wanted your friends and family back. 

“I am terrified.” You confessed, eyes cast downward. “I’m terrified of never being able to fulfill what you deserve because I’m so focused on what other people think – about what they say. It’s pathetic really,” you laughed, and glanced up. The tears were still falling, and he was staring at you, but he wouldn’t look away. “It’s pathetic that my fear is of what society thinks about me… about us.” 

There was a look of sheer desperation across his face, realization was dawning on him with ever second you confessed and spoke. And he still refused to look away from you, even as his lips trembled or when his shoulders heaved with suppressed melancholy. The feeling of utter helplessness was so foreign to him, and you’d never seen him look so uncomfortable in his own skin. He looked like he was fighting a war inside his head, maybe he was losing. 

_********^^ 65%**   //LEVEL OF STRESS//** **  
** _

_**//STRESS RISING! CRITICAL DAMAGE//  
** _

He couldn’t always win the fight… not this time. 

You needed to leave – to flee – before you changed your mind. There was a reason why you came here, and it wasn’t to guilt trip, or make him feel like you never loved him because you did. Connor was everything you wished to be; his kindness, his natural caring nature. He was your home. 

But you couldn’t lead him on anymore. He didn’t deserve you. 

But he held out his hand anyways, reaching for you, begging you to stay. He watched you walk away a little lovesick for you, tormented by the fact that you thought you would never be good enough for him when it was the exact opposite. 

“Goodbye, Connor.” 

-

-

-

Two weeks. 

Two weeks without seeing Connor’s face had gone by, and you really didn’t know how to feel. 

That was a lie. You knew exactly how you felt; you were dreading everything, and you missed his warmth. You missed him _so fucking much_. 

People lied when they said the hardest part of losing someone was saying goodbye, that was total  _bullshit_. The hardest part of letting him go was learning to live and love without him. It was a a never-ending spiral of trying to fill that endless pit of darkness, trying to remember what it was like to be his, to be held by him – and only him. Everything around you was gray now; the once lively trees and flowers, the beautiful sunset colored skies, the  _skin_  on your body. 

Losing Connor wasn’t just painful, it was… damaging. It pulled at your intestines, broke your bones, carved a fake smile onto your face – you were an entirely different person. 

_Love was evil._

Love took and took and took until you were just a soulless vessel; nothing but negativity and self-hatred. And yes, you hated yourself for breaking him, for absolutely tearing his humanity in half. You didn’t think you could hate anyone as much as you hated yourself. 

 _“This world is so full of hate, but you –_ you _are the one good thing in all of it.”  
_

His words echoed in your mind, and you pulled your coat tighter around your form, shivering as the light snowfall that the newscaster predicted began to fall upon you. 

“I hate myself, but I still miss you.” 

-

-

-

“ _Hey, this is [Y/N]. I’m not able to get to the phone right now, so leave a message after the beep. Beep!_ ”

Connor didn’t even think to leave a message after all the previous attempts were a fail, there was no use. He’d been calling you everyday for two weeks; you never once picked up the phone, but he could’ve swore that one time you did – most likely on accident – because you were half way through greeting before you cut yourself off and began to breathe heavily. 

That was yesterday. 

It’s the fourteenth day without you. Without your smile, and your hands to hold or the warmth that you brought to him. He was cold despite having not changed his internal temperature for three days. There was this need to stop caring for himself after you left, and Hank was slightly concerned. Only when Connor multiple days of work did he really scold the poor android for not taking care of himself more better. He was forced to clean up, and go to work, and at least pretend he was okay. 

He could do that. 

He could pretend. 

That’s what he told himself everyday since, but today, today was different. It was different because he saw you; there under the sycamore tree as snowflakes ascended onto your beanie covered head, and your slightly sagged shoulders. With one look, he already knew: you were in pain. 

He took one step off the sidewalk and onto the snowy grass, and you turned around, eyes wandering aimlessly until they finally found his. He could catch the rapid rise and fall of your chest that clearly meant you were shocked to see him, standing there, phone merely inches from his ear. 

It was… odd to be seeing you there – at the park where you had your first date – especially after since he tried calling you for the thousandth time in two weeks.

He always did say that the two of you were meant to be together, that your names were written in the stars, side-by-side, inseparable. You were always connected by an invisible infinite string. 

You always rolled your eyes at that. 

But he meant it. 

And now, you were starting to think he wasn’t just a sappy, hopeless romantic. 

But here you were, unwilling to move your legs, to force yourself forwards – to him, in his arms because that was what you craved. You craved his love, his undivided attention, but you didn’t deserve it. 

You  _broke_  him.  

Maybe if you thought hard enough Connor would come to you. 

You watched him stuff his phone into his trench coat pocket, and with calculated movements, he began his trek towards you, gravitating towards you without hesitation. It was like he read your mind. 

You sucked in a harsh breath as he neared closer to you; what were you going to do? Or say? You didn’t know what else to say other than– 

_“I’m sorry.”_

“I know.” His voice was like a fine chopped piece of wood; heavy and rough. He was standing before you now, eyes crinkled slightly in the corners as if he hadn’t just been through the worse two weeks of his life. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was filled with a nasal undertone, eyes falling from his own softer brown ones to take in everything else. 

He was wearing a gray fleece trench coat, cuffs rolled up suggestively with black trousers and black boots to match. This was a whole other side to him; he never dressed up with you, and yet you found it oddly satisfying to know that he wasn’t completely too weak to work with change. You’d be lying if you said Connor didn’t look breathtaking in the snow with his professional, and well fitted coat. His brown hair had become more curly ever since you last seen him; a lock of it floated innocently before landed onto his forehead. His LED was whirling a deep, serene blue, and you can’t for the life of you concentrate on anything other than that damn piece of technology. 

“I was on my way to the precinct, actually,” his eyes darted across your face, taking in the snowflakes that decorated your hair, covering it with a liveliness you failed to produce yourself. His brows bumped together as if he just registered just how uncomfortable you sounded, “Are you sick?” 

His detective skills never seemed to fail. 

You nodded, but said nothing further, only letting curiosity stretch across your face as he stepped towards you. You didn’t move – somehow you were rooted to your place. 

His hands reached up and touched your cheeks, and when you made no move to stop him, he continued to hold them as if they were the necessary warmth to keep him from freezing to death. His eyes were starting to close in a way that depicted he was heavenward. This was a different side to him. He almost looked touched starved. 

You had yourself to blame for that. 

At the particular biting iciness of your skin, he raised his temperatures wanting to rid you of the harsh truancy you forged into yourself. 

This was okay. He could just sew you back together, piece by piece. He could do that now. 

“I missed you.” His eyes opened, and found yours once again. 

You stared back at him with a pleading expression, full of regret and ignoble of his affection. But you were secretly enjoying the warmth his hands brought to your body, and to your heart. 

The magnetic pull you’ve always felt with him was anything but barely there, in the pit of your stomach, in the deepest part of your mind, in your heart. 

“Connor,” Your hands wrapped around his wrists, and you forced his attention back to you. The question left your mouth before you could stop it, “What are you  _doing_  here?” 

“I thought…” You watched placidly as his face dropped at the warning tone of your voice. He pulled back a little too harshly, yanking his arms and cradling them as if your raw, phlegmatic skin caused a  _frostbite_  there. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and you immediately looked away, not wanting to see the lingering affliction. “I still love you, [Y/N].”

You were certain that if it weren’t for the numbness you felt from the snow, then you would’ve crumbled to the ground from the pure defeat in his voice. 

“You need to let me go,” you whispered, feeling the self-hatred consuming you. “I’m still hurting.” 

“You’re hurt?” 

“My soul is.” 

“But…  _you_  let  _me_  go. Why are you hurting when I’m the one who needed to be saved?” His cheeks were covered with tear-tracks, swollen and blotchy, even his nose was red. 

Your attention drew back to him, finding his heated gaze set on you.  _Good_. He needed to be angry, you were okay with that – you were  _okay_  with him  _hating_  you.

You deserved it. 

But you didn’t deserve him. 

“I’m scared, Connor.” You croaked, feeling the bile rise in your throat and the astringent sting of tears. His facade changed quite fast at your weakening frame, but he didn’t move to comfort you. “I was scared of losing myself when I was with you because you didn’t deserve that part of me – that ugly, ugly part of me. You needed sunshine, and roses that bloomed in their wake when you walked by. All I could give you was  _frostbite_.” 

“I wanted you! That’s all I ever wanted!” His voice rose, booming with the force of a thousand grenades. 

With every shout, you seemed to cower away – the light fading from your eyes, a dullness he never thought he’d seen before. He knew that look. It was the look that haunted him for weeks. It was the exact same look you gave him the day before you broke his artificial heart. 

It was the look of someone who was tired of fighting. 

It was the look of defeat. 

“No,” you cried. “You need someone who will love you the way that you love them.” 

“Are you saying that you don’t love me?” 

“I’m saying that I don’t love you the way you love me.” 

Each word was like a punch to the gut, but it felt worse than that. You had tore straight through his chest, ripped his heart right through his chest, and then stomped on it. 

“Let me go, Connor.” 

He silently wept for your presence as you brushed past him, desperately wishing you’d turn back around and give him back all that you took with you: his heart, his sanity, his trust. But that was the last time he’d feel your warmth, and it was the last time he’d feel human.

_“Let me go.”_


	17. Familiar | Human!Connor RK800

It’s like a game of tug of war. 

One minute you’re walking past a crowd of complete strangers, and the next you feel yourself staggering backwards. The tug in the pit of your stomach is so undeniably vigorous — so  _firm_  — that you start to feel lightheaded from the impact of this otherworldly sensation. It knocks the air right out of your lungs and you’re left momentarily stunned into place. 

You stop and look around, eyes traveling over the sea of people in Detroit. No one really stands out to you, but you feel the connection intensify — and it’s too strong. In fact, it’s incredibly strong that you begin to follow this feeling; it has to take you somewhere, right?

You breeze past pedestrians, muttering a few apologies to the people you accidentally brush past in a distant voice. And you’re so focused on that feeling deep inside of you that you fail to notice that you’ve made it to the other side of town half an hour later, and your legs are unsteady, wobbly. The feeling wasn’t foreign to you, but you wouldn’t say the same for the ungodly, exigence you felt in the pit of your stomach. And what caught you off-guard was that it was spreading to every possible major organ in your body; your heart was the last to feel it, or was it your soul? You feel the need to cease or titillate the tugging that was morphing into a pounding vibration, a sort of long-lasting, soul aching desperation. 

Either way, the feeling will be fed what it desires most — the force is driven, obstinate. 

You halt in your steps, turning around and taking in the view in front of you like a baby kitten taking in its surroundings for the first time. A smile starts to dance across your lips and without really thinking about it, you step forward and before you know it, you’re stepping inside the precinct. 

The Detroit Police Department is buzzing with activity, and you feel your eyes take in the liveliness of it all. Somewhere in this station is the answer to your unspoken question. 

“May I be able to assist you, Miss?“

You turn to the sound of the almost mechanical voice, eyes finding those of a PM700 model android. Her brown eyes are sparkling with the  _need_ to guide you. 

“No, thank you.” You smile and she nods politely. 

Turning back to the madness before you, you this feeling carry you to where you need to go. It forces your feet to move forward, and you’re nearing an elevator, but you don’t corrupt it. 

You’re not scared. You aren’t even hesitant. 

Not even when you feel the feeling inside of you shift and grow and twist and pull. It all happens so quick. One minute, you’re walking towards the elevator, and the next minute holding the doors open for a man who is obviously in a hurry to be somewhere. His brown, almost perfectly cropped hair, is slightly disheveled. His eyes — oh so brown — are glinting from the elevator’s dim lights. He’s smiling, out of breath, absolute. 

He is magnificent. 

And strangely, the tugging you felt has finally ceased. 

His face is angelic, and his lips are the gates to the heavens. He’s speaking to you, lips moving rapidly, ardently. Brown eyes, alive with bewilderment, ground to your spot, and you’re hit with a jarring reality that this… this is the someone you’ve known for a while. 

You are very familiar with him, yet you don’t even know his name.

You need to know his name. 

What’s his name?

“Have— have we met before?” He asks you, eyes clouding with the same familiarity you feel deep inside. His expression conveys so much without needing to speak the words behind it. 

You smile. “No, but I feel like I’ve known you for centuries.” 

“My name’s Connor,” he holds out his hand for you to shake and you waste no time in colliding your palm into his, molding them together even as they seemed to connect without a second thought. His hand is warm in yours, and you shudder at the heat he produces. It’s like a light you know you’ve had this entire time being sprung free with his touch. 

 _[Y/N]_ , you reply with repressed elation, trying to hold back the giggles you so desperately want to let loose. 

“Of course.” He gasps, every ounce of love and devotion and adoration comes to life within those endless pools of brown and he brushes your hair behind your ear. “How could I forget  _you_?”

And for a moment, you don’t know what he means, but then it slowly sinks into your chest, and it flows through your veins, your blood: you  _have_ known this man for centuries. He  _is_ the person you are meant to cross galaxies for, the person you are destined to grow old with and love until your last breath.

There’s this feeling deep, 

deep, 

 _deep_ inside of you. 

And it feels as if your soul is trying to unite, collide, mold with his own. This feeling scares you, but as he smiles that smile, and it takes your breath away, you know that everything will be okay. 

So, you give into this sensation and watch with awe as they come together to form a whole. 

Now you know. 

He is yours and he always has been.


	18. Strike the Match | Ruthless!Connor

You would’ve never known the extremes he’d take. Something so small as shooting a crazed deviant as it loomed dangerously over you with a red-tipped knife, and an evil malicious grin on its face. 

He didn’t  _have_  to shoot it. He didn’t — not really. 

You don’t really remember Connor walking over to you in your state of shock, but when you looked up from the ground with encyclopedic eyes, you were staring at your partner. How did he reach you so fast? He had to have ran to you, especially since merely seconds ago he shot down the deviant where it stood. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” You speak as if you don’t recognize the person — albeit a android — in front of you. He’s glowering; brown, almond shaped eyes scrutinizing you with what you can only decipher as disappointment. 

“I did.” He replies disputatiously, yet his tone is sharp and clipped as if he doesn’t have the time to explain to you why he did such a thing. 

He won’t tell you. 

Although  _admittedly_ , if not for the noticeable spiraling red and yellow LED on his temple, you would never realize just how much distress he is in. Just how much he hates this feeling — this feeling of needles pricking at his synthetic skin, this invisible force pulling harshly on his heartstrings, these unbearable almost-consequences that didn’t happen because he swooped in to save the day. Once more. 

He’s angry. 

He’s angry that you are too weak, too vulnerable and fragile, and simply too precious for this world. He doesn’t need you to be that way. Being any of those things make you a liability — he hates liabilities. He has far too many of those. 

“I don’t need your help, Connor.” You growl under your breath, and begin to heave yourself up. 

Connor’s on standby, ready to spring into action if you fail to bring yourself back up. He freezes almost instantly at the disgruntled noise that slips past your cold, chapped lips. It’s the flashing warning sign in the corner of his vision that catches his attention, and he realizes now more than anything why humans are unlike his kind. He knows that humans are so far from expendable, so far from unstoppable in this very  _fucking_ moment. 

“Wait,” the imperturbable tone of his voice doesn’t catch you off-guard. It’s the way he reaches forward, and sets his hands on your waist; dove-like and assiduous. He doesn’t look at you, no. His eyes are focused on the lower half of your abdomen, where you feel a light chilling draft just below the scratchy fabric of your SWAT vest. “You’re hurt. My systems have detected that your smaller intestines have been damaged.” 

Finally, that’s when you feel the pain. It starts off as a dull thud, an ache that consumes your lower stomach. And you don’t move, you’re paralyzed with shock with a partly open mouth that screams of agony beg to be let free. You want to scream, but you are too frightened. 

Your hand slowly creeps over, but before you can touch it to staunch the blood, another larger hand — synthetic and determined — covers the wound whole, and his other hand wraps around the curve of your back before you are swept off the ground and into his arms. 

“ _Hey_ —” You don’t have time to process much of anything before he is walking away from your previous placement. Your head involuntarily lolls to his chest, and for a second you’re sure you can hear the mechanical  _thump thump thump_  of his heartbeat. “I don’t need you to carry me, Detective. Put me down for Christ’s-sake!”

And of course, he  _ignores_ you. 

“I’ve requested for an ambulance. It’s arriving in less than five minutes. You are going to be fine, Agent [Y/L/N].” His voice is passive, hollow, monotone. You do not know what he’s thinking, but  _oh_ what you’d give to know the ways of his mind. 

“I told you… I’m… I’m f-fine…” Your voice trails off, and your body gives into the exhaustion and mind-numbing pain. Just as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, the blaring sounds of ambulance sirens echo through your head, along with the fleeting memories of Connor calling out your name. 

-

-

-

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The exigent blaring of the heart monitor echoes through your head, and you blink once, then twice before the bright luminescent lights corrupt your vision. You groan, and screw your eyes shut before reaching for the slight pinch you feel in your left forearm. Without looking, your fingers wrap around a rubbery cord and you tug on it with dragging movements. 

“It’s not wise to pull on those.” A sibylline voice speaks from a scant, dark corner. 

“They itch.” You reply dully, blinking your eyes open once more, having better control over the brightness. Letting out cantankerous sigh, you turn your attention over to the corner, where in the middle of the stygian void stands a figure, facing toward the window adjacent to him as an auroral glow from the moon gives his face light. His hands are clasped behind his back, and from where you were you are, you notice the visible flexing of his fingers from the moonlight casting down upon him. His LED swirls a tranquilizing blue. 

Despite the way that he is, the sight is angelic in a way.

Your fingers are still fiddling with the IV that is attached to your skin, but you do not focus on them. In your eyes, he is reflecting, and he is quite peaceful. 

“Why are you here?” You ask out of an innocent curiosity while your head tilts ever-so-slightly to the side. “Did Fowler force you to stand there and watch over me like some guardian angel? Because if so, then by all means,” you wave your hand to the exit of the hospital door, “Feel free to go. I don’t need your protection.”

He turns away from the window abruptly, eyes narrowed and livid. “I do not take orders from Captain Fowler, nor am I being held here unwillingly. So, I suggest you stop wasting your breath and get some rest.”

“I’ve had  _plenty_ of rest.” You argue, feeling your blood spike at his territorial and somewhat accusatory tone. 

“You were stabbed in the abdomen.  _Twice_ — and you lost a pint of blood,” with his hands still clasped behind his back, he takes a daring step forward. “You don’t get to disobey my orders.”

Your eyes widen, lips curling back, “Oh,  _you’re_  orders? You aren’t my boss, Connor! I don’t  _have_  to listen to you.” 

He goes silent, eyes and mind centralizing on you. His LED switches from blue to yellow, and his nostrils are flared from what you can make out. You also catch the befuddled expression he bores, or the squinted-eyed look he does when his eyes dart away from yours. 

You huff loudly, and coil into the mattress, eyes dropping from his to stare at anything  _but_ him. “Why did you stay?” Your voice is but a murmur, pleading and addled. This isn’t the Connor you know, and somewhere deep inside of you, there’s this fleeting feeling that screams  _change_. 

“I don’t have to answer to you, [Y/N],” although your breath hitches at his first mention of your name, you don’t let it fool you. “I am here because I—”

“What?” You demand, eyes now a burning fury, a burning  _questioning_ fury. “Tell me why you are still here, Connor, instead of going off and doing things that don’t make me believe that you actually have humanity in that insensible vessel you occupy.” 

He is taken off-guard, and it’s the first time you see his external demeanor shift into tense shoulders, and parting lips, complete with the widening of those doe-like brown eyes. There is so much confusion behind them, and for a minute you feel apologetic. 

“Well, I… I was…” his eyes find yours, and you hold your breath momentarily from the intensity, but there is such an unmistakable fire in them that it’s hard to overlook it. “I wanted to make sure no one bothered you while you slept, that’s all.” 

“ _Liar_.” You whisper breathlessly. 

His hands palm the mattress you lay on, and you are surprised because you don’t remember him coming this close to you. Your index finger, without realizing, skims over his hand that is white-knuckled and gripping onto the sheet. He is refraining from something, his LED now flashes a bright angry red. You are  _trembling_. 

“Look, I would certainly find it…  _unpleasant_ if you died.” 

_Oh.  
_

You do not say anything for then you will have to ask questions, questions you do not want the answers to. You want to keep the innocence of this moment, you want to revel in it. 

When your eyes drift down to stare at nothing in particular, you hear a chuckle, and warmth sizzle across your hand, his fingers brush across your knuckles in a lazy dance.

“Get some rest, Agent.” 

There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, and suddenly you forget every word in the dictionary. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

…

You are  _so_ fucked. 


	19. Kneeling At Your Ocean's Edge | Pirate!Nines

Being the daughter of a rueful King has its perks. 

But climbing up the side of a luminous, rusty old pirate ship to save said King was  _not_ one of them. 

You curse under your breath and look around wildly as water droplets fall to the ship’s deck. They create a puddle beneath your drenched boots— the ones you had fetched from your Maiden months before. They were quite accommodating in situations like these, but it’s not like you do this type of thing  _often_.  

And this type of thing is that of boarding(sneaking on) a ship of one of the most feared Pirates of the sea to rescue your father. It’s been weeks since you last saw him, and even though he told you not to get mixed up in his business, you still set out on a boat that was half the size of the ship you were now on. 

Looking behind you, you catch the eye of your steadfast craft, sighing in relief when you notice the almost stillness of it against the hushed ocean waves. Without a second look, you climb the rest of the way up and onto the ship, landing harshly on the deck as your back smacks against the hardwood floor. Water drips from your clothing, but you do not let it bother you. In fact, you hardly even notice how soaked you are. There isn’t time to worry about yourself— your father’s safety is all that matters to you at this moment.

“Aye, there, Lass! You’ve no business on the  _Poseidon’s Plague_!” A voice as rough as the waters below calls out to you, and you freeze, eyes finding those of one of the crew members. He’s undeniably older with somewhat senescent features with one workable eye, and his choice of clothing is even more so archaic. 

“Is that what you call this unfortunate piece of rubble? Hmm, it’s quite unsightly, isn’t it? In fact,” in one swift motion, you draw your sword and hold it out with pride, with a boldness you never thought you had. You’ve managed to stun yourself, knowing that you never— admittedly— taunted someone before. “Tell me where my father is, and I’ll be on my merry way,  _Pirate_ ,” you step closer, hoping to invoke even a sliver of fear in the boy, “Or would you like to take a dance with Jack Ketch? Eh?”

He stands there, unfazed. There’s not one ounce of hesitation in his eyes, and you find yourself losing this pathetic one-on-one tango. He only quirks one brow, hand on his hip as if he’s silently interrogating you. “Are  _you_  a Pirate?”

“Bloody hell!” You grumble, sword falling at your side in exasperation. “No, I’m no Pirate, you vexatious bilge rat!”

“Then I’m afraid you aren’t allowed here on this ship, Ma’am. It’s best if you take your leave now before the Captain finds you.”

You fix the Tricorne leather hat atop your head, eyes narrowing. “Alright then,” the tip of your blade punctures the ship’s floorboards as you lean on it slightly. “Take me to your Captain. I want to see him.”

“I don’t think you’ll want that, Ma’am.”

“And why not?” You tempt, bringing your sword back up. You trace your fingertips over the smooth blade, eyes never leaving the poor Pirate’s. “I said what I said, Mate. Take me to your Captain, or I will take this blade and  _make you_.”

“Suit yourself, Lass.” He shrugs in a nonchalant way, then turns around as if waiting for you to follow. “Come on then. I’m sure the Captain would mighty well fancy you.” 

“ _Right_.” You huff with a roll of your eyes, then slide your sword back into its sheath before catching up to him. 

Before you have a chance to comment on the poor sap’s eye-patch, your attention is caught off-guard by just how stunning the interior of the ship really is. It’s all wooden floors are almost squeaky clean, and continue to become more shiny as the men aboard— most likely the Captain’s servants— hustle and bustle about. You let your hand glide smoothly along the railings of the ship, and your black Cavalier boots prate against the deck with ease, as if you are  _meant_ to walk these floors. 

You take a sharp turn, and the pirate then leads you down below the deck, where you assume the Captain will be. Nevertheless, you begin to feel your nerves spiral the closer you come to meeting this fearful man, and despite all of the research you’ve done on him, he still sets off a primal instinct to turn and run away. Then you remember why you’re hear in the first place, and it’s too rescue your father. 

“Here we are,” the raggedy pirate announces in a tone that suggests you should be terrified of what’s beyond that door. “Sure you don’t just want to abandon the ship now, while you still can?” 

“Not a chance, Mate. I know the reason for my arrival, and I bloody well won’t be leaving until I know for certain that my father is safe,” you lean in dangerously close to him, eyes narrowed. “Savvy?” 

He gives you a nod and gulps nervously, his eyes grow like the size of a doorknob. 

A triumphant grin stretches across your face, and you stand straight, hands clasping behind your back. It’s then you realize that you have in fact provoked the slightest amount of fear within him. It only fuels you now. 

“Please, proceed.” You gesture to the door with a tilting smirk, not knowing just how well you’re playing off your fear and completely masking it over with the fuel of your vengeance. It’s hilarious how a woman like you can turn into a relentless lioness within the matter of seconds when some you care about is put in harm’s way. 

He turns away and faces the wooden door, then, with visibly shaking hands, he knocks once, then twice. Silence only passes through for less than a minute before you hear a booming voice call out to the disturbance. The sound of the Captain’s voice rattles through you and you tense whereas the pirate in front of you flinches with the force of someone knocking into him. 

Your brows come together with curiosity, but you don’t ponder too much on the thought because soon you are walking through the entrance of where you hope the Captain awaits. 

“Captain Conrad, Sir.” 

“What is it  _now_ , Walden?” A voice like waves crashing smoothly against sand drifts towards you, and you hold your breath. 

You stand in the doorway, your only view being a luminescent chandelier and a mahogany table placed right beneath it. It sways back and forth along with its ship, the waves a dull reminder of your father’s absence. Behind the table sits a window, and from where you stand, you are able to see the sun taking its rightful place on the horizon. 

The Captain receives no instant reply, and instead, the pirate beckons you forward with his hand. When he tries to grab onto the hem of your loose fitting blouse, you glare and yank your arm out of reach before stomping inside with the courage of a bull. 

“Found a stowaway, Sir.” 

“Well, then take care of—” Inscrutable icy, grey eyes find yours, and you halt. The man before you looks like anything  _but_ a Pirate Lord. In fact, he looks quite the opposite; wealthy and charming.

With hair as dark as the night, and attire to match, he is the epitome of eerie and intense. He wears a menacing black coat that rests easy on his shoulders, a black linen shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing a small patch of chest hair, and all black trousers. He sits dauntingly on a throne-like chair with his equally black boots propped up on his desk. The sight before you practically breathes  _intimidation_. 

With a quirked brow, he observes you, carrying a fierce expression. His jaw clenches when his eyes find yours once again, and every nerve in your body fires off with an inhuman speed force. Just the way he looks at you causes your body to be infected with a need to douse yourself with water. 

“That’s not a stowaway, you dense  _eel_. That’s Princess (Name), she’s Malcolm’s daughter.” He glances away from you quickly, eyes finding those of the man who caught you. There’s a fire behind his eyes. It’s like he’s almost offended  _for_  you. 

You have the urge to roll your eyes from how highly he speaks of you, but you are paralyzed, rooted to your spot. If you listen closely, you’d be able to hear the slight praise in his tone, but with your luck, it would just be your mind playing tricks on you. 

No pirate would praise the spawn of the rueful king who imprisoned him once a time ago. Nor would that pirate possibly feel the need to emphasize your rank of royalty. 

He wanted something. 

“Please,” his eyes flitter over to you once more, and you gulp. He raises his hand and beckons you over with an artificial grin. “Sit, Little Treasure.” 

He refers to you in kind, the nickname washing over you just as the low baritone of his voice almost relaxes you. 

“My father,” you don’t move. “Where is he?” 

He gives a gentle huff in retaliation to your defiance, and skillfully props his index and thumb fingers under his chin as if to scrutinize you. “Leave us at once, Walden.” With a wave of his jewelry clad hand, the pirate nods hurriedly and closes the door behind him. 

“If I refuse to answer your plea, what will you do?” He dares as a sly expression consumes his features. 

“Something you will wish never asking me of,” you reply, unsheathing your sword in one swift motion while aiming it at him with a deathly glare.

There is not one trace of a hesitation on his face, he simply stares at you with curiosity and awe. It is proven that he is not threatened by you in slightest bit, and to keep proving so, he sits up in his chair and props his elbows on his desk. The action in itself is bold, but you don’t waver. 

His eyes watch you with a warm amusement and you can’t help but wonder why he isn’t intimidated by you. It almost makes you want to shout in frustration. 

“Do you not think me serious?” You mutter, sword wavering. His crystal-like eyes seem to bore right through you, as if he is staring at your soul, and— admittedly— you feel exposed in a way that is refreshing. 

“Oh, I do, Little Treasure, but never were you cruel and callous,” the nickname is a purr on his lips, and you shiver. The corners of his lips curve upwards, giving him a serpentine grin, but you see the one anomaly in it all; his revealed demurral, peeking right out from behind his cool composure. “Do you plan to commandeer this ship?”

“If unlikely events were to happen upon deliverance.” He watches you like a hawk, “But until then, I only ask for my father’s freedom.”

“Your father has something of mine, and until I am assured that it will  _be_ mine, he  _stays_.” Even though the reply would likely come off as asperous and unkind, he speaks to you with a sort of tenderness that compares to a man in need of approval. 

At the declaration, your sword falls to your side slowly. A permanent scowl decorates your face, and you step forward, causing the Captain to inhale audibly. “This is all for treasure, isn’t it? That’s all you want.” He doesn’t move, proving you are right. “You pirates and your treasure, always fighting for a higher fortune. It’s pathetic, really.” 

“Ah, yes. Treasure,” his eyes roam every inch of your body with a fierce possessiveness and you fight to hold your arms over your chest in attempts to hide yourself. When his eyes find yours again, his grey eyes glow like the sun reflecting off a shiny coin. “Perhaps we can discuss a trade.”

“A trade?” You quirk a brow. The idea has piqued your interest, but the deal sounds dangerous and conniving. 

“A trade, yes. I quite like the sound of that.” He stands up, palms resting on the desk before he has stood up altogether. With manners you’ve never seen a pirate use, he clasps his hands behind his back, the gesture making him seem taller. “I free your dearest father in exchange for…” his eyes gleam excitedly, “ _You_.” 

Your sword clatters to the floor just as a gasp of disbelief flies from your mouth. “I beg your pardon— you want  _me_? I’m not special, in fact, I’m far from that. I’m not even worth a handful of gold.” 

“Oh, but you are, ( _Name_ ). You are worth every shilling, every  _treasure_.” He steps around his desk, stalking towards you like a predator to its prey. The closer he becomes, the more you are able to feel the heat radiating off his body. 

“I— I don’t—” you can say with full confidence that your rebel consistencies aren’t always going to get you what you want. It’s the quite opposite. 

“What do you say?” He stands in front of you now, face a mere ten inches from yours. He raises his hand and brushes his knuckles over your cheek, eyes following his movements with nothing other than a disgusting flicker of fondness. The contrast the emotion has to the color of his eyes is uncanny and as obvious as the need to breathe. “I think it’s a a marvelous idea.” 

“You… you seem awfully certain that I won’t betray you the second you set my father free.” Your voice is slightly above a hoarse whisper as you try to ignore the way his skin feels against yours or how it makes your insides speak to you with a needy roar. 

“No,” he mumbles, letting his thumb trace the curve of your lips, eyes alight and betraying. “Just desperate, Little Treasure.” 

“I would rather… throw myself off the ship and drown.” Your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head, but when his lips touch your nose and his hands cup your cheeks, it’s like giving life back to the dead. 

No matter how rudimentary it all is to just pull yourself out of his grasp, your mind becomes unforgiving of how gentle he handles you as if you are like a porcelain doll. 

For the first time, you hear him snarl in your ear. “You hide away what should be  _mine_.”

It’s then you feel him touch your chest, signifying the meaning behind his words. 

“Your heart is what I want, dear girl.” 

…

“It’s what I’ve  _always_ wanted.” 

Your mind becomes one with the sea itself, and you are ultimately lost. There isn’t much you can do but give in to the crashing of the waves, and the howling of the sea breeze. 

Or the pounding of his heart that beats in sync with your own. 

“Deal.” 

And when he captures your jaw between his fingers, he seals the trade in a fevering kiss that leaves you feening for more.


	20. The Art of Warmth | Werewolf!Nines/Werewolf!Connor

“(Name)?”

You only huffed, a cloud of cold air chasing along an invisible path. 

“I wish she would ask us for help,” Connor replied stubbornly, expression aloof as he stared at you. 

You curled into the fabric, every piece of you feening for the warmth your body so desperately needed. The coat itself was large enough to cover you whole, but you weren’t in the position to sit on the ground. In fact, you were too busy trying to keep yourself warm by blowing heated puffs of air onto your gloved hands. It did little to keep what warmth you tried to savor. 

“What do you expect from her, dear brother? She’s extremely stubborn.” Nines’ voice was filled to the brim with unadulterated blithe as he watched you with grey vulpine eyes. 

He adored the way you were, the things that you did— your utter self-sacrificing semblance. 

“She’s  _freezing_ ,” Connor justified, brows knitting together as your form jerked from the harsh, blizzardy winds. You curled further into the black parka jacket, the hood daring to fly off the confinements of your head. “What if she becomes ill, or gets frostbite? I don’t like putting her safety on the line over something that can be easily found with the two of us.” 

Nines sighed deeply, expression betraying the brusque front he held up. He knew Connor was right. There wasn’t possibly any worse thing he knew other than the risk of your safety. If something else could be done, then so be it; his precious Wolfsbane would have to wait another day. 

As their gaze followed your every tumble, every shudder, their chests twinged heavily. It was like looking at a puppy that was too cold, too—  _anything_ to bother with its surroundings. 

Nines’ gave in to the abominable quake in his chest and caught up to you within just two long strides. Connor was not too far behind him, and when they reached your side, you made no move to acknowledge their presence. 

There was a noticeable scowl that embellished the contours of your face. Without a doubt, you were upset, and you didn’t even have to say anything because your Mates knew, they could feel it in their veins. It had started off as minuscule pinch by their heart, and the more stonewalled you became, the stronger the pinch grew. It was unpleasant, and even with their high pain tolerance, it was difficult to ignore. 

“(Name), please stop walking. It’s incredibly hard to keep up with you when you’re upset. It’s like trying to chase a cheetah.” He huffed, reaching for your arm, but heavy exhaustion hindered you from continuing with your fatigue-induced grudge. 

You came to a stop after wavering on your feet for a split second. Both sets of hands held you rooted in your place, their warmth radiating from their fingers as they dug tenderly into your waist. 

“We have supplies and a tent. I doubt one night of rest won’t hurt.” Nines’ reasoned with you, tugging on the fabric of your jacket, eyes burning holes on the side of your face. 

“You’re cold,” Connor whispered, something indescribable fraying the edges of his words. “You can still be upset with us, just please— let us keep you warm.” 

With weak movements, you tilt your head up and stared at him. There are no emotions displayed on your face at the moment, but despite you being skilled at hiding certain feelings and expressions, the pain that twisted and pinched in their chest told them that you felt everything. 

Fingers dug deeper, and there was a brush of warm lips against the coldness of your temple. 

You turned to face Nines, catching his face moving only centimeters away as you turned around. A certain sparkle rested in his eyes, making them seem greyer than they already were. Even with snow drizzled over his head, his clothes, he still looked devastatingly beautiful. So beautiful that it pulled on your heartstrings as if frames were being knocked off the walls of a home. 

Connor’s arms snaked around your middle section and you instinctively leaned into his embrace, their heat fusing with your skin and absorbing you whole. There wasn’t one brush of freezing air on your body. 

“Both of you are helpless, desperate children.” You reprimanded with a softening scowl but went against your stubborn judgment and gave into their demanding needs. 

“If it would please you lovesick wolves, then  _fine_.” It was a breathless sigh on your lips, and when your eyes found Nines’, something flickered across his face. A look that almost resembled that of a person who was under a spell.  

“It would certainly please us.” Connor’s voice brushed past your ear, gentle and hot. 

You shivered and looked away, then subtly reached down to guide his hand into yours while you interlocked your other through Nines’. They seemed pleased with this action because immediately after they gave your hands a gentle squeeze they wandered off a mere five feet to set up the tent. 

As soon as their warmth became nonexistent from your form, the cold seeped into your very blood. It was only a few minutes before they were ushering you into the cozy looking tent, arms as delicate as a feather as they guided you. As soon as your feet touched the inside of the tent, you collapsed onto the assemblage of blankets, teeth chattering. 

“I’m n-never agreeing on coming to the Arctic with you— you two  _ever_   _again_. I’d rather cut my arm off.” 

Connor chuckled with light humor while Nines’ mouth twitched faintly, eyes alight with infatuation as your face twisted into one of a sullen, pouty child. Then with ease, Connor descended down next to you, and as if by second nature, you curled into him. As your face burrowed into his neck, inhaling him, you heard the feeble  _thump thump thump_  of his pulse. 

Within seconds, Connor’s warmth seemed to travel from your head to your toes like the speed of lightning. You hummed, a smile adorning your lips. It grew only wider when Connor pulled you closer and pressed his lips to the top of your head. 

“Thank you.” 

He hummed his reply, eyes fluttering closed, enjoying this time with you. In all honesty, they both always loved spending time with you, no matter if it were only five minutes. Time with you surpassed every law of illusionism. 

You didn’t move for a good second, still feening for the warmth of your other Mate. Reluctance consumed you and forced you into this petulant child that would never be complacent until both Mates were by your side. It was pathetic, thinking about it now because you were more than alright to have one’s attention rather than both. It just depended on the mood, you guessed. 

For a brief moment, Connor’s cheek lifted from your own, and a heaved sigh followed soon after. You had to grin at that; Nines was always trying so hard not to show his softer side, and it was even more difficult to fight it when around you. 

You were like this ray of sunlight that infected his crepuscular livelihood. And he could never abandon you, so there was really no other choice, but to let it influence him…  _sometimes_.

“Right, then.” One minute his voice sounded far away, and the next, it was a gentle hush in your ear. His entire body was pressed inhumanely close to yours, filling you with his overwhelming warmth. It felt like you were nearing the sun, and the longer you laid there, the more it consumed you. 

It was devastating, and staggering  _and_ —

“Easy now, my stars.” Nines’ crooned, his voice like a beacon of light that guided you home. 

 _ **Home**_. 

Home was what you felt when you were held by them, touched by them, loved by them. 

“Sleep now, (Name),” Connor’s voice was like a lullaby, a symphony as breathtaking as the stars were in the sky. “We’ll keep you warm.” 

His lips find your temple once more, an instinct to reassure you even though you knew you would be fine. 

As if they knew of the impact their warmth had over you, they held you, just a little bit tighter, and a little bit closer. 


	21. An Unexpected Dance | Human!Nines

You watched the remaining of the Detroit Police officers retreat into the snowy weather, onward to celebrate Christmas with their loved ones. A huff of enervation released from your mouth and you rubbed tiredly at your temples, eyes daring to close and continue that way until the sun was rising.  

But you couldn’t. You had loads and loads of work to do, and even with the amount time you had until Christmas Eve, the dreadful hoard of files that splayed out on your desk told you otherwise.  

It wasn’t like you had much to do on Christmas anyways; your family lived states away, and you really didn’t feel like leaving the comfort of your own home when you could be all by yourself, drinking and watching television as if it were the only good thing you had going for you.  

Yeah, that sounded nice. You would finish up here— around an ungodly hour, no doubt— and then you would go home, open a bottle of red wine and then the rest would be confetti.  

“Lieutenant (Last Name),” the delicate timbre of your co-worker’s voice echoed in your ears and you turned around, gazing at him with a tenderness you only ever showed around specific people. The attire he wore always managed to catch you off-guard. Between the black turtleneck he wore so often, and the tight-fitting black trousers, he practically breathed mysterious.  

“Yes?” You breathed, eyes traveling from the top of his head to the very bottom of his legs in a single glance. Once your eyes found his again, he was still staring at you intensely, jaw ticking in that analytical way.  

He stuffed his hands into his front pockets, a soft amusement glinting in his icy grey eyes. “I do believe it’s Christmas Eve, you tend to celebrate that holiday, correct?” You gave him a partial nod in reply, eyes unable to stay in one spot; taking in the well-defined structure of his jaw, the corners of his undeniably pink lips, and the unkempt style of his dark hair. “If I’m not mistaken,” he looks down at the watch on his hand, and then back to you, “You should have left half an hour ago.”   

“Busy,” you mumbled, but quickly cleared your throat after realizing that you were staring, and a lot. “I’m busy, Detective.”  

His smile grew, and you swore your life flashed before your eyes. Expertly and with ease, he withdrew his hands from his pockets and rolled his sleeves up to rest just below his elbows. This sight of him pleased you wholeheartedly while your eyes drifted from his eyes to his lips and then to his muscle-corded arms, unable to choose which to focus on.  

“On Christmas Eve?” He quirked an eyebrow and then bit his lip to suppress any further indication of his humorous fascination. All of this was followed by a well disguised shake of his shoulders that led you to believe he was trying to hold back a laugh.  

“On Christmas Eve,” you nodded, eyes growing into a squint. “You find this funny.” It wasn’t so much as a question because you could see where your statement played into view.  

“No,” he shook his head, clearing his throat. “I don’t— I don’t find it funny. I’m befuddled, actually. Why aren’t you celebrating, going out with your friends?” You said nothing, and a wave of curiosity washed over him. “Family?”  

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, not knowing what to say to him. Not wanting to make a fool out of yourself for sounding like an asshole on Christmas Eve, on the only day where you desperately needed to feel like you weren’t alone. 

So, you stayed silent.  

“You don’t have anyone,” was his conclusion. Worry settled over his heart and he brought his arms into his chest, touching his elbows as his eyebrows bumping together. He sighed when you made no move to answer him and stepped forward once. “(Name)?”  

“Look, my personal life is none of your goddamn business, Anderson.” You snapped, eyes narrowed into slits as you swiveled around to avoid his eyes.  

If anything, you were sure you hurt his feelings more than piss him off. Richard wasn’t like his father or his brother, he was the slightest bit more sensitive than anyone you ever knew, if you were being completely honest with yourself.  

He remained quiet behind you, hands settling back inside his trouser pockets. As he watched you hover over your desk, shoulders hunched, head dipped low, he realized that he wasn’t going to let you spend Christmas alone, not again. When defeat challenged him, daring to sit upon his shoulders without a fight, he shook it off and told it, No. A small smile graced his lips as a thought roamed around in his head.  

Your breathing slowed to a stop when your attention drifted towards the retreating pairs of boots, but you didn’t dare turn around. You merely listened because you didn’t have the guts to look at his forlorn expression. The possibility that you may have hurt his feelings more than necessary struck at your heart and you winced.  

A mere few seconds later, the sound of a distant tune filled your ears. They perked. It was a soft melody, and the more you listened, the clearer it became. The familiar vocals of Mariah Carey blared throughout the office. You began to stand from your spot but stopped shortly when the string lights that some of the officers hung around the office came alive.  

You gasped and held your hand to your mouth. Turning around, you came face-to-face with Richard, his mouth open, the words stuck in his throat as he stared at you silently. The intensity of his eyes were possibly louder than the music that surrounded you, but even he was confused by his actions. You could see right through him.  

His lips twitched almost going unnoticed, but you caught it.  

“What do you think you’re doing, Anderson?” You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing in on him with trepidation.  

“I don’t know,” he let out a shaky breath, and took a step forward. Holding out his hand, he tilted his head as if to beckon you closer. “Can I try something?”  

From where you stood, you glanced between his outstretched hand and his face. Shock struck you to the core, and you knew that deep down your soul would want to take that daring leap of faith. Deep down you knew your soul wanted to dance with his.  

Without really thinking, you reach out slowly and before you’ve had the chance to pull away, he twirls you into his chest. The chorus of the song mingling around you and in between the very few spaces you had.  

A core crashing sensation encompassed you, your mouth snapping shut when your feet began the very careful movement. It was a scary synchronization, the way you two danced as if you had already rehearsed.  

“Wow,” you breathed out, eyes darting from the melodic movement of your feet, to the glazing icy irises of your partner. “Where’d you learn how to dance like this?” 

“Took lessons when I was younger.” He replied smoothly, a genuine grin gracing his face.  

“Very impressive, Anderson.” You nodded with your own mirrored expression.  

“Richard.”  

“I’m sorry?” 

His hand gripped yours and he pulled you impossibly closer against him. You were able to feel the aftermath of his workouts; the tightening of muscles, the flexing of his hands and the attractive tick of his jaw.  

“Call me Richard, (Name).” The words were a like a whispered prayer, the opening veil to every desirable fantasy you’ve ever thought of. It was the rush, the heat of his breath, the warmth he radiated, the intensity of his eyes as they burned holes right through you.  

The breath in your throat hitched, and the only thing you could do was nod.  

Admittedly, you craved for him to twirl you around again, but you stayed rooted to the spot. You stepped along with him with a certain bounce to your step when he turned, your hand still clutched in his larger one. You had your other hand pressed tenderly over his broad shoulder, feeling the muscles relax and tighten every time you breathed so close to him.  

The energy in the air stuck when you took in an apprehensive breath, gulping when you noticed his head dip down the slightest in retaliation to your movement.  

“So, what now, Detective?” You quirked an eyebrow, tilting your head up to gaze at him through your long lashes.  

It was picturesque; you looked too innocent for your own good.  

A beaming smile stretched across his lips while little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. This was a new look for him, a new and unfamiliar look. It almost made you want to keep it there forever.  

“Well,” he twirled you around and continued when you crashed against him with ease. “We will dance until we can no longer stay on our feet—” his hand slipped lower, past the waistband of your jeans. “—and then I will help you pack up your things—” his fingers hooked into the loop, drawing you closer. “—and I will throw you over my shoulders…” he leaned closer to you, brushing his lips over your earlobe, making your breathing become quick and stressed. “Then I will take you home with me and devour every inch of your body until you tell me to stop.”  

His tongue caressed your earlobe, and you gripped onto him. Something intense and hard strained against your inner thigh and you hummed instinctively, eyes rolling to the back of your head. One of his hands gripped at the curve of your ass, needing to hike your leg up higher, while the other fondled with your hair, your neck, your cheek.  

“How does that sound, Lieutenant?” His voice was low, almost a growl.  

Oh, what you would give to have him take you right here and now.  

Your lips parted to speak, to say anything— something, but just as a moan was dying to break free from the intimate dome you caged it in, he pulled away and the dancing ceased.  

A whine, involuntary and primal, flew past your lips and his smile widened.  

“Fucking tease.” You panted, fingers carding through his.  

He leaned closer once more and cupped your cheeks, watching you as if he was seeing you for the first time. Something indescribable flickered through his eyes and you swayed.   

“Merry Christmas, (Name).” 


End file.
